Is there anything more beautiful than a beautiful, beautiful flamingo, flying across the sky in front of a beautiful sunset? And he’s carrying a beautiful rose in his beak, and also he’s carrying a very beautiful painting with his feet. And also, you’re drunk.
Can I change my answer?
I am always trying to make my wife laugh. It doesn’t always work because we have wildly differing senses of humor. She likes wordplay, and certain kinds of silly, but other times I have to explain what was funny about the joke. Once in awhile, I score. And when I do, she gets a look on her face that she never gets any other time. I can’t think of a better way to describe it than (sorry, small vulgarity ahead) I’ve given her an intellectual hard-on. When she’s getting the absurdity of a setup or the payoff, and it really appeals to her sense of comedy, she has an expression that I wish I could see all the time. It’s so beautiful. And then she laughs.
A plastic bag wafting in the breeze in front of a brick wall.
A smile, the geniune kind, the kind you can see in someone’s eyes as well as on their lips, the kind that transforms a face and radiates pure joy.
That, or a really sexy guy delivering a suitcase of full of $100’s and a cold beer to me. 
The crackle of the fire catching when lighting the woodstove on a cold winter morning.
The sound, the smell, the encircling warmth, it’s all good.
When my city is socked in with snow, when the city shuts down, so beautiful is the snow, the quiet, the darkness when it comes. And everyone grows concerned for their fellows, it happens every time, lovingkindsness seems to suddenly infect the city like a virus. You can feel a shift, daily matters suddenly have no weight, they fade into obscurity, suddenly the city shares a single goal. The warm embrace of their families and hearth. There is magic in these moments.
With some reflection though, I think the most beautiful thing might be to be able to rise and meet whatever challenges come.
The sky on a cold night, next to the Great Salkehatchie Swamp.
A crystal clear stream plunging down a steep gradient over, under and around rocks.
Certain moments that are so perfect they feel almost surreal, like I’m in a film and I’m watching the moment unfold from a seat in a cold dark theater.
All of my friends, toasting each other, with the perfect song on the jukebox, with the whole evening ahead, laughing at something stupid, saying nothing important but saying it with great importance, realizing that we’re all just old enough to know that nothing ever stays the same, so we’d better take our joy when and where we can find it.
Mr. Levins and I glancing at each other across the room at the exact same moment, knowing that we’re thinking the exact same thing, and never saying a word. Just grinning at each other like idiots.
Driving in my car on a sunny day with the windows down and the music up. Destination nowhere. Thinking about everything and thinking about nothing at all.
That moment right before I fall asleep, when my body is so relaxed slumber is seconds away, when I realize I have eight hours of absolute comfort ahead of me before I have to do anything else. When my pillow is like a gift from God.
Hey, sometimes your pillow IS the most beautiful thing in the world.
Mrs. Fresh, of course.
Solving a really difficult math problem. I just get shivers.
Meditating at dawn by the open window.
Finding a book at the library that everyone else just assumed was lost forever.
Did I mention Mrs. Fresh?
And our kids, 'cuz we don’t have any.
Witnessing an act of kindness
Watching a bird of prey spiral its way up a warm column of air
Anything that represents remnants of the past (like stacked rusted cars in an overgrown field, old neighborhoods that aren’t yours anymore or even just memories) because it reminds you of something you can’t have again but at the same time never left you.
When you’re walking at night and sudden become aware of the stars
music
watching a lonely person or thing push on
The English Language in the hands of a great writer.
The stretch of land from the north end of the Golden Gate Bridge to about the Waldo Tunnel, when it’s foggy, and the whisps of mist are running down the hills like fingers.
February 10, 2000, when I got my current Mac. That was a couple of christmases and birthdays rolled into one.
My memories of my father.
He was strong and wickedly funny – best known for his compassion and his total absentmindedness. Someone always has a story to tell me about him when I’m back home again.
He was born almost a century ago, but in my memory he has returned to being the laughing man with the wavy black hair.
I’m sure you’ve seen the “setting” for our lives in movies – the small town store (groceries, produce, seed, feed, farm supplies) where the locals gathered around a pot-bellied stove in the back on Saturday nights. That was my Dad’s store in the middle of Main Street for about thirty-five years.
My computer now rests on the desk he used at the store.
Horses. Galloping free, muscles bunching, hooves pounding , nostrils flaring.
The love shining from my dogs’ eyes when they look up at me.
The Grand Canyon.
this year’s list:
…a good cup of black coffee.
…a cat doing almost anything.
…the sole of a woman’s pretty foot.
…blue lights at night, as on a runway.
…Rebecca Pidgeon’s voice in the movies.
…rolling green fields of Iowa growing in the sun.
…the NYC skyline at night, seen from 25 mi away.
…sunset over English Bay, Vancouver, BC, Canada.
…the natural elegance of Danish women on bicycles.
…Lullaby, by the New Music of Reginald Foresythe.
…the cobalt blue '36 Ford Tudor owned by the guy down the street.
I agree with a couple of posters here. I love waking up on a lazy weekend morning with my hubby and a kitty or two. I love the sight of a horse, whether at rest or a full gallop.
But right now, it’s my ultrasound pictures of my alien baby. (As soon as I get the CD back from my MIL, they’ll be posted.)
I really could not decide on just one.
It depends on my mood.
Old Faithful on a moonlit night.
Not the easiest thing in the world to rank, so here are my top 3.
Unadulterated joy. Most recent example I can think of: the kids from Hawaii who won the Little League World Series.
Memories of my father. There aren’t words enough to describe how wonderful a man and father he was. I wouldn’t be half the man I am today without him. (And I’m still not half the man he was.)
The English language in the hands of a truly gifted writer.