I have a friend who takes gorgeous nature shots. Close ups of daisies being pollinated, portraits of frogs who think their camouflage is fooling everyone, the well hidden nest of a hummingbird and her chicks.

She did all the work, which I can only imagine involves an early cup of coffee, tugging on boots in the half light, and unpacking her zoom lens, the one she researched for a few months before clicking on "buy". Probably for every photograph she is pleased with there are three score that never left the memory card. Duds. Out of focus. The ripples left behind when the mallard dove when what she wanted was the duck. 

But what she shares with those of us who watch is exquisite. 

I had lunch with a woman who finds beauty in her life. She went to the shore with friends, including three young couples for whom the bloom has not faded. Their tenderness with one another blessed her as well, in the ripples that are the inevitable aftermath of kindness. Her own husband wasn't present, which arguably could be as disappointing as a duck that plunged too soon. I asked if it was hot, and she conceded that it was, but it seemed too trite to dwell on given the abundance of good food and conversation. Yahtsee, clicking knitting needles, the stiff breeze that carries your cares out the open window. 

It would be an easy sell, to complain that pollution is obliterating wildlife, and marriages are not what they used to be. But that doesn't seem to keep some people from slipping on boots and looking for loveliness.