Plunk…plunk…plunk. The first three raspberries hit the bottom of Ella’s pail. She liked the chore of fruit picking—picking raspberries in the summer and apples in the fall—she usually did it by herself, but Ella didn’t mind, she delighted in the solitude. Today, cicadas buzzed as a backdrop for her thoughts. That is what she did out here. Think. In a world full of so many questions and puzzles, there was always much to ponder. Today, she was considering beauty. She could think of so many lovely things. For instance, two weeks ago, she and her family visited the concert hall and heard the symphony orchestra perform. She remembered Dvořák’s Humoresque specifically; the light, airy spirit of the violins at the beginning of the piece made her feel like a butterfly on the wings of the wind, it reminded her of childhood innocence. Then came the deeper portion, so moving, filling her with longing, it bespoke a sadness she could not place. Then the vivacious violin returned to cover it for a time. It was amazing how music could move a person like that. Music was a master of manipulation; it could flow into one’s ears, swirling and evoking all ranges of emotions: sadness, joy, fear, and peace. Ella herself had experienced surges of adrenaline just from hearing the blast of trumpets and the acceleration of notes.

A fat bee buzzed fuzzily by, drawing her back to reality. Ella checked her pail, noting that her mindless fingers had filled it halfway already. Her fuzzy, buzzy friend growled his way over a cluster of berries yet to ripen. She watched him until he flew off toward a patch of golden rod. The clump of tall stalks was just beginning to turn yellow, foreshadowing the autumn close at hand. This was another form of beauty that spoke to Ella’s heart. Nature, or creation, as she had once heard it described, possessed its own magnificence. The roll of great, gray, frothing clouds pushed on by wild wind as a thunderstorm drew near; the glisten and dance of a creek as it purled over mossy stones; the smell of fresh, sun-saturated air on warm summer days, all these and a plethora of others besides, cried out with a beauty not to be denied. And she didn’t; she reveled in it.

The clang of the dinner bell broke into Ella’s reverie. Quickly, she dropped the last few berries into her bucket and started homeward. A last thread of thought entered her mind as she trekked up the hill to her home: Where did all beauty come from? Why did her heart love it so much? Why are people so drawn to beauty? Beauty was an intangible thing intertwined with so many things. It was full of such incalculable intricacies and such copious amounts of nuance. Could it have been created by chance? This suddenly struck her as very unlikely indeed, ridiculous even. She would have to give it more thought. Ella stepped inside and bent to untie her bootlace. A small smile crept over her features. The apples would need to be harvested soon