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This is Life Is So Beautiful, a handcrafted, non-AI-generated, free-range, shade-grown weekly dose of hope and aspiration. It’s lovingly curated by Hugh Hollowell, and is devoted to the belief that our hope for survival in this brutal world is rooted in finding the beauty that is everywhere, but sometimes hard to find.

I hope you enjoy it. - HH

Hey y'all!

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As I write this, it is the morning of the 20th, and last night at 10:06PM, it was the spring equinox, and I’m excited beyond words. We are midway on the journey from the shortest day of the year to the longest. Every day gives us a bit more light, allowing me a few more precious minutes after supper to work in my garden that was resting over the winter.

As I write this, the birds are singing outside my window, as they have done since the predawn hours, signaling to each other that they made it through the night. And that resonates with me, as I feel every spring as if I have survived a long period of darkness myself. I thrive on heat and light and flowers - winter always threatens to do me in.

But now the flowers are blooming, and the ground is giving way to the hosta shoots and the plum trees are ablaze with buds and tiny leaves show along what just last week were bare, gray branches.

Folk who study such things as the timing of the blooms and the emergence of leaves tell us that because of climate change, it is happening much earlier this year than previously. There are all sorts of reasons this is bad for us, long term. And I think that, deep inside the prehistoric parts of my brain, I recognize this. While I love the signs of spring, that it has been very early this year has been some sort of uncanny valley. I wore shorts in February.

But thus far, climate change has been confined to our own planet, and thus not affected the light. The earth still spins, and the sun still glows, and even should we humans manage to burn this spinning globe to a barren wasteland, the equinox will still happen, oblivious to our fate. What humans have not yet conquered, they cannot destroy.

Regardless of the wars we fight amongst ourselves, the ways we ravage our ecosystem, the horrible things we do to each other, the sun continues to shine on this equinox day, warming the earth and telling the birds to sing their song of survival.

I take some comfort from that.

Five Beautiful Things

The poem Not OK, by Jarod K Anderson, from his collection Leaf Litter.​

A deep sea expedition off the coast of Chile reveals previously unexplored underwater mountains, as well as more than 100 new species. Check out the stunning video from the trip. I know it’s not a competition, but this seems at least as amazing as anything on Mars, and a hell of a lot closer.

I struggle with the line in visual art with regard to AI modified images. But, I love seeing the work of Justin Sims, a visual artist who has created stunning portraits of Black icons, like MLK, Aretha Franklin, Chadwick Boseman, and others. Black joy is always beautiful.

​Obvious Plant makes, uhhhm, weird things.

I have lost who sent me the short essay The Sadness Scale, as Measured By Stars and Whales, but if this does not move you, you are dead inside.

Currently Reading

If you are a fan of the British detective show Midsomer Murders, you may want to read the seven books the series is based on, by Caroline Graham. They are far more serious than the show, and Troy is a jerk and Barnaby is more world-weary and introspective. There is also, surprisingly, far less actual crime, and the writing is lovely. People who follow the show often wonder how anyone is still alive in the county of Midsomer.
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I read them during the height of the pandemic, when I was cramming down any form of solace at all - this trip through is slower, and far more enjoyable.

Thank You

The most opened link last week (~15% of opened emails) was this graphic essay by Mira Jacob, about what doesn’t make sense anymore in our post-pandemic world.

We had two new folks join our membership team this week. Members are the only way we keep this going - their patronage pays all the bills around here, and keeps this newsletter both free and ad-free.

Other ways to support this project include buying me a cup of coffee, share the web version of this letter (see the link at the top of the page) on social media, send cash via a half-dozen ways, send a postcard to the address at the bottom of the page, or just forward this email to your friends. But however you do it, I'm grateful beyond words for your support over the years.

Take care of yourself, and each other.

HH

PS: I love to get email (or snail mail!) from readers, so if something this week struck your fancy, I'd love to hear about it. I read it all, even if I get overwhelmed at times and can't always respond.