“Aren’t those flowers beautiful?”, asked the son.
I looked around, but couldn’t find anything that even faintly resembled a flower. “Where? I don’t see any flowers here.”
“Where, Sweetheart? There aren’t any flowers here.”
“Are you blind or what”, he said, before taking me by the hand and dragging me to a clump of wild grass. “Now can you see the flowers?”
Yes, when you looked at it through my son’s eyes, the grass was beautiful. More beautiful than most flowers.
Can there be an absolute standard for beauty? Who decides what qualifies as beautiful, and what doesn’t?
A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.