Have you ever had one of those moments where the quiet beauty of the world surrounding you took your breath away? Time seems to stand utterly still and you stop what you are doing, even if it means being late to that class yet again, simply because you can hardly move? It feels as though a movie clip with full orchestra soundtrack couldn't capture the moment in it's entirety.

I've had two of those recently. I was walking through the Selleck courtyard, which was uncommonly void of human activity. The wind was so strong that day, but the sun was shining in full force. The courtyard provided a mild refuge from the violent whipping of the wind, but as I walked, the sun warming my face, the leaves scattered over the lawn seemed to rise around me, as if suspended in an autumn snow globe. I tried not to stop and stare, so as to cause those around me to think I was crazy, but I was certain that this was incredible beauty. I wondered if anyone else had been allowed to see it, or if it was a secret between me and God himself.

The other happened this morning when I arrived on East Campus a bit early for my 8 am class. I had marveled at the beauty of the sunrise earlier, and breathed the fresh, crisp air as I walked to the bus stop. As I stepped off the bus onto campus and entered the grassy area in front of the union, I looked around me in surprise as the sun rays reflected off the glass, causing me to squint. It was so still. I almost couldn't hear the footsteps of the two oblivious students crunching through the leaves behind me. It was glorious. I smiled and continued on my way, forming the words of this story in my head, and wishing I had my computer with me so I could type the words as fast as they entered my thoughts.