A prismatic potion.

An artist moved into action.

Fingers, a brush, intention, collision. Flecks, streaks, bubbles and trouble.

A stir of the cauldron.

A prismatic potion in a magical world.

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Beauty suddenly rises like magic.

Unexpected chalk roses on a gray wall in a city. Beauty suddenly rises like magic.
Unexpected chalk roses appear on a bare city wall. Beauty suddenly rises like magic.

Every patch of this world is a canvas. Hands of unseen artists work mysteriously. Beauty suddenly rises like magic.

Sun and waves on bare concrete from an unknown urban artist.
Sun and waves emerge from cold, timeworn concrete.  An unknown urban artist has worked powerful magic.
Treetops swayin' Music Playin' Feet are swinging Such a beautiful Feeling. Anonymous.
“Treetops swayin’ Music Playin’ Feet are swinging Such a beautiful Feeling.” Anonymous.

Beauty is a dance of light.

Beauty is a dance of light.
Beauty is a dance of light.

Our eyes see nothing but reflected light. Reflections on the water are like shining glimpses of a higher world, a world that we cannot touch and barely fathom. Perhaps that is our own world.