White wall

I am by no means a photographer

A bird with a crimson throat

A plank of wood at the bottom of a well,
green and molded -
half submerged.

Burnt boxes,
A highway overpass.

Maybe the reason we can't find perfection
is because we try so hard to create it.
Is it possible that to find such beauty,
all we have to do is realize that it exists
in the first place?

Perhaps beauty, passion, and joy are older than we are -
and they are as innately human as the wind,
or a stream...
not 'human' at all.

Completely tangible,
but in no way ours.

One thing is for sure,
I am willing to see
that such moments are perfect.