Evening in May is a delicious thing: the wind rustles the tops of trees all new-leaved and dancing. The air is livable, there's no bracing yourself for chill or humidity--you exist within it, luxuriate in the ease.

Supper is finished, my husband tends the garden and chats with my son (so full of words, so astonishing in his growing) and as I tuck my daughter in her crib, I look at the light flickering through the curtains. Sunlight, dogwood branches, wind--a dance, a simplicity so lovely I stop and just watch for a bit.

That shifting light shifts my mood and I think: I need to share this beauty.

So here I am, trying to tell you about the light in my daughter's window, the feeling of summer's cusp, of my husband home, of my son's growth. Because what is beauty if we don't share it? At least that's what I find myself doing--when something's good, pass it on I say.

I wrote a few pieces for Trouvé ,  a new magazine that's just out, and I guess that's the other flickering bit of beauty in my evening. Amanda, the editor and designer (genius visionary), brought our copies over the other night. As I opened the box, my eyes smarted with tears. For here was the scene: kitchen sink spilling with dishes, both children refusing a bedtime, and in the midst of this mess--a lovely thing, this magazine.

Matthew contributed a playlist as you can see...

Matthew contributed a playlist as you can see...

I wrote two essays: an introduction to the issue, as well as the first thing I ever sent to Trouvé : a few words on finding time to create; along with a profile on artist Michelle Armas (with light-rich photography from Paige French). I can't begin to explain how satisfying and surreal it is to see my words bound with so much goodness into this journal.

So see for yourself...I've got a copy I want to send you! Comment and tell me what glimpse of Beauty you've seen today, or something that's brought you simple satisfaction. I look forward to it, and to sharing Trouvé with one of you very soon.

I'll pick someone this Saturday morning while my kids ask for more honey to dip their waffles in.

AuthorBeth Ables