There's an image of me in my mind: I'm sitting on a blanket on the grass on a warm, cloudless day. The wind stirs the grass and the air around me and carries the sound of the waves of the lake lapping up against the shore to my thirsty ears. I drink in the sound, breathing deeply, letting the warmth of the sun beat down on me, the soft wind cool my brow. Maybe I'm humming. Maybe a small thread of some untold story fragments its way through my thoughts, eager for a chance to survive, to be brought to life by the fingers of the storyteller. Maybe I'm just sleeping, or replaying a cinematic dream of a memory: a remnant of a ghost whispering of springs past.

When I think of myself, this is what I see. A master, quiet on the bank of the shore in search of her lost craft, missing the way it felt to have the earth cradle her.

I looked at a picture of myself today and found that once I glanced, I couldn't take my eyes away. Something about the composition, the lighting, the perspective, the glint in my eye, the curve of my hand; all of it hit me with such a tremendous feeling of beauty that I felt proud that I had managed, in my random bouts of photo-taking, managed to capture such a fantastic image of myself.

Turning away from my computer, I held my arm out in front of me and inspected it carefully, bending inward and out, stretching the hand, curving it under; I examined every line and curved it made as I twisted it through the air and I realized that I've finally learned to see the beauty in myself, and these small things: Taking a great picture, appreciating my arm; were just the catalysts to this revelation.

Maybe it's a silly thing to be excited about, but I feel like accepting oneself is the greatest struggle any person can undertake and knowing that I do love myself and how my life is unfolding just fills me with a very profound sense of peace and happiness.

I think that sometimes it's nice to share these moments with others so a little bit of my glow can spread to them.