I was thinking the other day about how the character narrators in books so often muse on the beauty of the things around them in life. I had just finished reading The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky. Protagonist Charlie spends much of the novel describing his surroundings and attempting to find beauty in some of the most surprising things.
So I decided to look out for the beautiful things in my surroundings.
When I walk home from the bus stop after uni I walk past this large vacant lot. Its on the corner of two main roads and is completely overgrown with grass. I mention this place because to walk past it I have to walk along a narrow path and i have discovered that if you walk staring at the ground your field of vision is restricted to a thin strip of concrete hemmed in on both sides by tall grass that sways in the wind. If I block out the noise of the nearby traffic I can imagine myself walking along a path in the middle of an overgrown field, perhaps on the banks of a river.
As I stared at the ground while walking home that afternoon I was struck by how easily such a simple thing had transported me into another world; a world far more quiet and tranquil than the one of the busy road just a few feet away.
And I think that's a kind of beauty.
The overgrown path is an oasis in a desert of car noises and exhaust fumes. And yet the oasis itself is largely a mirage brought on by my almost desperate desire to see a classic and romantic kind of beauty amidst the hustle and bustle of modern life.