You make beautiful things

You make beautiful things,
out of the dust

from Gungor's "Beautiful Things"

I cannot explain to you, in mere words, the pulchritude of all to be felt around me: The slight giddiness as I stand at a dizzying height, looking down at the precipice of a new, yet unread, novel to be delved and mined. The strange sigh of regret, inaudible, loosed from my lungs at the finish of a good read; that bittersweet sound of reverberation as the book snaps shut, echoing in my head. The genteel fingers of the wind, threading through the tresses of my hair, as it pulls tendrils tenderly from my forehead and cheeks. The caress of a summer sun, alighting upon the tender spot of the neck and thrilling every nerve and sinew in the body until the knees grow weak. The drum roll of the sea, my heart beat catching cadence from the incoming waves. The security of a warm body curled into mine; a kitten, a child, a lover. The intoxicating smell of fire as it insinuates an unattainable passion to the other senses, save sight. The simplicity of melody interwoven with the complexity of harmony. The intricacy of life, of every living thing entwined with the lives of each other, unwittingly denying the idea that we, that life, is randomly made and exists. These sensations, these everyday quotidian feelings that rarely give the average person pause; they are the beauty of God. They are my joys.