I sit on the couch, watching pink peonies choose this moment to bloom. Their symmetry lures me in; I drown happily in their scent.
Yet I wonder about the misfit petals and wonder if would they charm me the same? I catch myself clinging to an approved idea of beauty. My own art, by contrast, erupts in crooked lines and run-on colours. It refuses neat edges.
The world offers a thousand definitions of beauty; each of us carries a private lexicon. Today mine is simple: pastel sky, pink peonies, and the permission to bloom messy. What imperfect blossom is opening near you?
PS: It’s good to be back in these lanes of wordpress. It feels quiet and cosy once again.
If this stayed with you, write back. I respond to every letter. ireenejkarthik@proton.me
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