A Perfect Picture I am rearranging old books on a shelf. Sunbeams fall onto the dust of my stirrings, forming soft rolling pillars of glitter in the muted light of early evening. I think; It must be time to dust in here. But there is a peaceful beauty in dust beams. They give me time to pause, and reflect. They are the history shed of ordinary living. I look around my library; stacks of papers, books, trophies, and family pictures abound. My eyes are drawn to a little silver frame; my son Richard, when he was only three. He was all smiles and white sunshine standing in my summer tomato patch. Richard was born with a little extra love, embedded in the form of a chromosome. Down's children can be so loving. Sitting on the floor in my dusty library, holding the smiling face of love, I realize something important today. A place doesn't have to be organized, a thing doesn't have to be unblemished, a person doesn't have to be perfect, to be truly beautiful. Shirley Alexander © 2007Return to: The Gifts of a Child
