Vanity of the Blind

January 23, 2012
By Anonymous

With a practiced and assumed grace,
The girl strode through the wood
As the midday sun peered curiously
Through the canopy above.
On an oak branch in the green ceiling,
Two squirrels chittered over an acorn,
But ceased their quarrel as they turned.
Two sets of gleaming black eyes focused
On the stranger in their forest.
Sure that all living things were watching her,
In awe of the beauty with which she shone,
She resumed her promenade
Along the gently winding path.
A shaft of sunlight crossed the way ahead,
Illuminating a large, mossy rock.
On the stone, a grouping of flowers
Bloomed in a rainbow of color.
On a small breeze, a Metalmark Butterfly drifted
From one to the next.
The black designs danced across
Its powdery blue wings
As they fluttered gently to rest
Upon a hydrangea, the tips of its white petals
Dipped in deep purple.
The girl sneered at the feigned beauty
Of the forest around her.
To her, only she was beautiful.
Not the finches darting from tree to tree,
Their song weaving through the thick branches.
Or the newborn rabbits, eyes still shut,
Nestled against their mother for warmth.
Ugly were the vivacious streams winding
Carefully through the groves
Of trees bustling with new life
Next to the girl in the white dress,
Arms crossed and lip curled with scorn.
In her mind, she was beyond comparison.
Turning on her heels, she walked back,
Leaving behind the truth.

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