As I drove down the road, the sun set before my eyes. It was glorious. I had to take a picture.
Every day incredible, wonderful, beautiful things go on all around me.
How often do I fail to see?
How often do I instead focus on those things that are not so incredible, not so wonderful, not so beautiful? How often do I not see the things that will bring me joy?
An age is called dark not because the world stops producing beauty. An age is called dark because people fail to see.