Beauty is everywhere; sometimes it works its way even through boys’ riotous hearts.

I did not notice the air cooled off and the sky casted its shadow. I’ve been busy planting sod along my fifty-five feet driveway when I heard kids shouting: two teenage boys were bike racing. From the indecipherable whirr only boys can produce, one exclamation fell through: “Wow! It’s beauty!” The shout forced me to stop and look what it was – and there, on the horizon, was a palette with a jam of untamed colors: fiery red, mauve, and enchanting orange, gold and terracotta, crimson garnet, marigold and radiating aster. The sky bloated like a ripe persimmon while honking Canadian geese were cutting it into v. Soon, the flames of red would subside into smoldering embers giving place to amethyst violet, ghostly indigo and, finally, wrap into obsidian black. I stood there watching the sky magic and felt an invisible hand put a soft blanket over my shoulders. I was calm and peaceful.

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