The little things

It's the little things that are the most beautiful.

Oh, sure, there's gorgeous grandeur. Just ask anybody who's seen the Rocky Mountains.

Or the expanse of the Grand Canyon. The wide open Texas plains. Or Phoenix in fall.

Closer to home, there's the Smoky Mountains, pretty much any time. But particularly in autumn, when the colors dance across those hills, and something inside you, placed there years ago, stirs with joy.

The Atlantic is awesome, early in the morning, before the world stirs. The Gulf is glorious, so clear sometimes you can see your feet -- and fauna. The Pacific is peace, hence its name.

Novels are nice, too. Hemingway. McMurtry. Pat Conroy.

Music is marvelous. "Moonlight Sonata." "Mack the Knife." "Midnight Cry."

TV is terrific. "M*A*S*H." Mayberry. Marshal Dillon.

All this is good, yes.

But the most beautiful sight in the whole wide world? It's much simpler than sunsets in South Carolina.

It's her smile. The way her eyes light up when she grins.

It's the cute way she laughs. It's the way she plays with her hair when she thinks nobody sees.

It's a million other things. Everything she does and when she does nothing at all.

It's her. She's beautiful.

And the best part? She's just as pretty on the inside.

You're really special, Elyse.