What is more beautiful than the fire pit, rain rusted, turned on its side in the snow? It is the only earth tone visible for miles. I think back to that moment when the black snake escaped my shovel, harmlessly sliced into the garden loam, and I finally saw the difference between blackness and poisonous. Or when I see the men with their shotguns and realize why the rabbits avoid us. I holler – run rabbit run – to the angry men with their guns I say “Isn’t it good to be alive?” Or when the telescope came in the mail and the first thing I looked at was my brother’s eye. It was a blur that moved when he blinked. I drew a picture of it and he cried because it looked like something he had never seen before. As when the paint by number ‘Last Supper’ has some numbers scrambled and takes on the look of a work of art.