The sound of Billy Gibbons’ (ZZ Top) main axe, a Gibson Les Paul that he calls Pearl E. Gates. It’s all over those records they made before they discovered sequencers.
The Les Paul I used to have sounded like it was made by angels. But it didn’t sound like Pearl.
Bass.
"I Get goose bumps when the baseline thumps "
EPMD - “You gots to chill!”
Kindness to strangers (giving, receiving, and observing)
Honesty even when there are unpleasant consequences
Seeing an underdog win
Bea Arthur in a teddy…
…Holding a can of whip cream…
Coffee being poured into a cup in the early morning light.
It makes a nice sound too.
:eek:
There goes another monitor and keyboard.
I have multiple personal definitions:
My 2 year old daughter’s hug is beautiful.
Jane Seymore is beautiful.
A one liner that is delivered dead pan at just the right time, that totally makes someone speechless is beautiful.
Without naming names, there is a secretary here at work that is incredibly beautiful.
Jeff McBride’s magic act is beautiful.
My yard when it is mowed and trimmed is beautiful.
Mozart’s compositions are beautiful.
When I see my kids playing together, it is beautiful.
I remember a moment so specifically that I thought was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. Hubby and I were backcountry hiking in New Mexico, near Bandalier National Park. I was a few paces ahead of him and turned a corner, coming into a valley where an exquisitely beautiful waterfall loomed overhead. Around me were towering pinon pines with their distinctive smell, the air was cool from a morning rain shower, and the canyon around me was striped with red, green, yellow, and black – the result of millions of years of shifting, rising, and falling. It very nearly brought me to tears.
Of course the second thing is my son. Sometimes I look at him and am overcome with how beautiful he is. How could I be so lucky to have something so beautiful in my life? He’s such a treasure.
My daughter, my son, SmithWife.
Then Charlize Theron. Guiness Stout settling. Gulf of Mexico sunsets.
Too many to count, really.
Old couples holding hands while walking down the street.
Late afternoon sun striping the forest floor emerald and gold in October.
The smell of earth that comes with the first thawed spring day here.
My kids.
Walking in the cold and dark and looking at the lighted windows, each a world, each a beacon, down the street where I live.
Small acts of kindness that surround us and are so easily overlooked or disregarded.
The rush and roar of the surf at St Augustine FL or Sippewisset beach, MA.
a good poem.
Snow.
The spider web outside of my side door - perfect.
A litter of kittens nursing their mother.
The first time a kitten does “Halloween Cat” and humps up his back and goes all sideways.
The view from the Wells Viaduct of the fall leaves - riding behind a steam engine in the tool car with only a chain between me and the leaves…
My son and daughter sleeping.
The Surf.
Italian sports cars.
Well, this is probably not really the most beautiful thing in the world, but not even three days ago I saw it and turned to Mr. Del and said “I think that’s the most beautiful sight in the world” – I was talking about the sign for the exit on the interstate on the way to our house. We wanted to own a home for such a long time, and found the perfect place, etc etc so that whenever we’re driving there, I get a genuine thrill as soon as I see the sign and know we’re on our way home.
White Sands, New Mexico, just at dawn. The gypsum sands really absorb sound, and if you walk over a dune or two, all the noise from the parking lot and visitor area fades away and one is left with silence and huge mounds of white sand, marked with the cuneiform tracks of small animals.
At the end of a barely-endurable car ride to the beach, getting out of the car hot and sweaty and cramped, to stagger over the sand toward the beach, smelling the salt air at last. Just beyond the riot of humanity at the water’s edge, there’s an unutterably wild moment when the vast Atlantic comes suddenly into view; long cold green rollers marching in from thousands of miles away, maybe Spain; and then a dolphin’s back arcs briefly and is gone as if it had never been.
The hugeness of that moment never fails to stop me in my tracks. There’s a movie, maybe more than one, I forget, where a character has never seen the ocean, and someone takes him there for the first time. The moment it comes into view he stops, drops what he is carrying, and runs directly into the surf holding his arms above his head. That is the proper spiritual response to seeing the ocean for the first time.
Sailboat
My wife, of course.
The water hitting the rocks at East Point.
The sun setting over the northren plains during summer.
Walking through a snowfall at 4am in a city.
A sunrise at sea in 1992 with the sun coming up in the ship’s wake was breathtaking and I can see it in my mind’s eye right now years later.
Fire.
No I’m not a whack job arsonist. I have a clearing in the woods 1000 feet behind my house and I have sat for hours mesmerized watching a bonfire and thinking about everything and nothing.
A good snowstorm, with everything covered in white, before things start to get all disturbed and muddy… with big, fluffy flakes falling everywhere.
Waking up late on a Saturday morning of a three-day weekend with ElzaHub curled against my back, Oscar the Wonder Kitty sleeping on my feet, and Emmy the Wonder Kitty curled up in the crook of my arm.
Nothing better.
E.
Mountain wilderness. The feel of a cool, crisp breeze, the smell of pines, the sound of the wind, views that go on and on…
I miss the mountains.
It’s been years since I’ve had one, but full-blown lucid dreams are up there pretty far. 
The simple choices first: my wife, my granddaughter and my albino cockatiel, Angel.
Three beautiful moments for me:
Back in 1978 we had a winter storm that pretty much shut everything down around here. Lots of snow and accumulated ice. Looking outside the morning after and seeing everything blanketed in white and the trees covered in glittering ice is something I’ll always remember.
Comet Hale-Bopp in the late winter of 1997. We lived out in the sticks then and the night sky was always amazing. Hale-Bopp made it even more so.
Easter morning in 1984. We had gotten about 2 inches of snow the night before, but the ground temperature was too warm for the snow to stick. I had to get up early to go to work and I had the road all to myself, so I took my time getting to the office. My route to work took me through the countryside and it was absolutely amazing that morning. We had had a warm spell earlier in the month and the redbud trees and dogwoods were in bloom. The limestone blocks from the local mines were visible amongst the trees in the woods, making a strange contrast against the dark and twisted tree limbs and tree trunks. Snow was still clinging on the tree branches and on the dead leaves littering the ground. There was a light fog as the snow slowly melted in the warming air. I’m embarrassed that my description doesn’t give it justice.