All Things Beautiful

For as long as I could remember my father went out to the field each and every morning, not working, but praying, in a temple he built himself. The temple was small, sitting on the edge of the field, standing no taller than three feet. It was made of small stones my father had found lying around and was supported by a few twigs. I never really understood why he did it, after all, not once did he receive any blessings, not even a symbol of good luck, but without fail, my father would bring an offering to the temple and the god he thought resided in it.

Over the years we experienced hardships, as any peasant, farming family would. One year when I was much younger the fields were flooded by a storm. The crops were washed away and the temple went with them. As soon as the storm subsided father and I went out to the field, we gathered as much wheat as was salvageable but it wasn't very much. I watched my father gather stones and create his little makeshift temple again. He placed some destroyed wheat in front of it and asked the god to continue to watch over us.

I asked my father why he was so devoted to a god who never blessed him, I asked why he didn't pray to the large and important gods who resided in the capital, and I asked what made this god so special.

"Talbot, the god that resides in that temple is the god of all things fleeting, they are the god of crisp autumn air and blooming petals that will eventually wilt. They are the god of sunsets and sunrises, the god of singing birds before they migrate, and the skin of an apple that you bite into before it rots. They are the god of momentary glimpses, of everythings that lead to nothing. They are the god of all humble beauties."

Another year our crops failed, and we had practically nothing to sell. Mother was distressed and it was obvious it was going to be a hard year. I was older by then, but I still struggled to understand why my father continued to pray to the god every day. Even as his skin grew thin from saying he was full and passing his bowl to me, my thin father whose ribs could be seen through his skin visited that god every day. He continued to make the trek across the field to visit the temple, now large enough for a human to fit inside. And so I asked again, "Father why do you continue to follow a god that does nothing to help you?"

"Talbot, when I walk outside I see clouds momentarily offering shade from the cruel sun, I see leaves that have turned to beautiful shades of reds and oranges that will eventually turn brown, and I see flowers whose beautiful petals will bloom from before they wilt and fall."

"But all those things are sad and somber, how could you find joy in such things?"

"The apples which will eventually rot, a soft coat of untouched snow that will be left with footprints, are all beautiful things. The god I follow is hardly sad and somber but instead appreciative and beautiful. They are the god of all fleeting reliefs and passing calmness."

After the work at the farm was done my father would often take me to the market. Although my father was devoted to the god in his temple sometimes I thought he was even more devoted to my mother. He would compare beautiful jewelry to her eyes and the finest silks to her skin. I was always impressed by how in love they were, that as a child I always wanted to be just like them. So I started loving everything and everyone. When I had some leftovers from dinner I would leave them by the forest and watch the animals react to the treasure they had just found. When I saw a child looking longingly at a candy I'd hand them a quarter and watch a smile envelope their face. I think that was when I started to understand what my father meant about humble beauties.

Eventually, war greeted our little town, I can still remember the sounds of ammunition being fired off and the sight of my father shielding me and my mother from dozens of bullets. My mother grabbed me running away from the violence, as I turned to look back I saw my father crawling desperately towards his temple and the god he loved so much, gasping for air. I heard my mother yell at me to keep looking forward, and I did, but not before seeing the look of relief on my father's face as he took his last breath next to his god of humble beauties.