STILL SOMETHING BEAUTIFUL

I knew these hills before the war, and I reckon the Lord has not forgotten how to put beauty in them. Georges seems to understand that. His little cabin holds paintings beside patched boards, a warm stove, and enough color to keep a fellow looking twice. Whether he found the place leaning or raised it himself, he has made room for things most scavengers would walk straight past.

I call it Still Something Beautiful. A man can spend so long counting what is broken that he quits noticing what is left. Here, a salvaged frame can hold a hillside instead of an empty wall, and an old table can give a tired neighbor somewhere to sit. Georges never has much to say about where he learned his ways. The care he puts into a place tells me plenty.