Golden leaves are falling from the tree outside my window. Bright golden leaves that flutter to the ground to reveal Beauty. Most people walk over them or discard them as a nuisance. Still, now and then, a hopeful heart will reach down and pick one up and slip it into the pages of her book. Tender parts of life live in a few such pages.
My thoughts, too, are like golden leaves flowing from my mind to the movement of the world before me, bringing heartfelt traces of the meaningful lace of my truest self. All about this place is a golden pattern dressing our world in love and beauty able to be seen in all faces and certain books. It waits patiently to be acknowledged. Nothing else matters, really.