Sometimes during Family Camp, the panoramic vistas on all sides crowd out everything else. The grand beauty is so grand and distant,
sunrise over the mountains,
blue-black fir trees scaling rocky peaks,
ice cold streams,
stars glowing in the night sky,
bridges spanning sparkling lakes,
that I can’t see small loveliness nearby,
hummingbirds hovering around the pavilion,
the sun hot on bare shoulders,
children’s faces dappled with shadow and light,
conversation amongst family members who see each other once a year,
morning devotions accompanied by bird song.
As I mince down the steep road,
praying my knees last through a morning walk
in the cool, fresh air,
consumed by my personal safety and health,
I almost miss them,
the delicate beauties waiting next to the path.
I look down and see mountain daisies,
slim and shy,
white and soft,
quiet and lovely,
humble and hidden,
swaying in the gentle breeze.
The beauties beside me.
What if I hadn’t seen them?
