Finding Beauty in the Ordinary

Dust clung to my boots like yesterday's words. Sun hung low, too tired to

argue. I kicked a pebble off the path, just to hear

it skip once. It rolled into the ditch and stopped. Ugly thing,

chipped and old. But I bent down anyway out of habit, or maybe just

because. Some truths don't shout, they wait in cracks.

Where no one looks and nothing acts. And beauty isn't born,

it's found. When your hands are empty and your feet stay ground.

I turned it slow beneath my thumb. Felt the grit, saw how the