What sets this photographer apart for me is his capacity to find beauty in unexpected places. I am not nor do I ever plan on being a photojournalist, but if I were I think I would be more likely to point my lens at the sunset, or the crashing surf than a close up of frozen leaves. Yet here I am, drawn in by the web of lacy threads that will melt in the afternoon sun, like a wedding veil on the brittle brown maple leaf whose life ended last November when he or she could not hold on any longer. Loveliness can be attributed to the dross at our feet? The compost that never quite made it to the burn pile? Without saying anything, this image tells me that God is at work in a myriad of ways, whether or not I notice. 

While I have never actually asked him, I think that this man goes looking for miracles. Not with a predetermined agenda of what he might find, as happens when a photo shoot is scheduled with a model and lighting specialists. He wanders out the door with his camera over his shoulder and curiosity as his impetus. Looking, wondering what he will find, believing that he will. 

This morning was ordinary enough. A friend texted to confirm that she will be taking Ben for a walk this afternoon. The girls found delectables in the fridge for their lunch, the only pause in a ten hour day. The completed puzzle is on the table, the one Benjamin was given for his birthday. He likes fitting puzzles. The post exit scramble has arrived, a quiet exhale in which I can write a few words, linger under a lap quilt. 

Yet these moments are lacy in their own way: the gossamer connection between a woman who walks her dog and her willingness to include Benjamin, whether or not he asks about her day. The opulence of nuts and ripe mango, that are no less marvelous for their availability. The process of seeing how things fit together, even those pieces that arrive in a jumbled box. 

Beauty is mine for the finding too. And the aperture is my open heart.