Glassy-eyed Girl

The Tenderness and the Teeth: A Twitter Memoir

2026-10-17T10:38:09.860-04:00

The great escape from reality.

I still come for the humor and humanity. I still smile when I see photos of nature and animals. Giggle at pets. I still am in awe of the talent and creativity. The beautiful souls and lovely poetry. The music I didn't know I needed to hear. Forgotten lyrics that somehow find their way back to me. Sometimes I just sit with it for a while.

I see breakups and people wanting to be seen. Not in likes or selfies, just daring the mass to truly see them. I feel deep grief and sadness, loneliness and insecurity. I stay amused by the audacities and unshaken confidence. The budding friendships and people who are genuinely kind.

The tenderness and the teeth.

And sometimes I am surprised by the bullying and ignorance that passes through my feed. How casually cruelty takes hold, how effortlessly contempt passes for conversation, and how easily people turn on one another. The ugliness of it all, and how comfortably they wear it.

The contradictions hold me. The way some people evolve and other people never change.

I feel lost in a place I like to wander.

The news, the clickbait, the thirst traps, the rage bait, the politics, the sports, the way beauty gets buried beneath the rubble of a world that has shattered.

I see the hopeful collecting the glass and trying to make sense of something so right. Why does something so right tear us apart so wretchedly wrong?

The anxiety, the depression, the creeping, the ostentation. The onslaught of hypersensitivity and oversexualization. The desensitized, the leery, the otraverts. People finding each other. Losing each other. Holding on too tightly. Letting go without looking back. The community. The loneliness of it.

Some leave an impression. Some leave a wound. And some disappear so quietly you don't notice until you go looking for them.

And sometimes I'm the one who disappears.

Shutting the door and still passing each other. In the same place.

The chair between us, empty.

A madhouse full of all kinds, a Pandora's box left open and neglected.

I wonder why I keep coming back.

A Bumblebee Sleeps Here

2026-08-14T19:20:47.577-04:00

The seed was there first.

Before the roots knew how deep they would reach.
Before the stem knew how to follow the sunlight.
Before the flower ever knew of its colour.

There was only a seed, buried in the dark.

And the seed had to break.

We spend so much of our lives believing that breaking means something has gone wrong. We hold ourselves together long after we've outgrown our own edges, afraid that if we crack open, we will somehow become less than what we were.

But a seed cannot become while remaining whole.

It must break to find its beginning.

And it does so in complete darkness, without ever having seen the flower it carries inside itself.

There is something beautiful about that kind of trust.

The seed does not know what waits above the soil. It doesn't know the warmth of the sun or the feeling of rain against its petals. It has never seen spring. It has no proof that there is light somewhere beyond all that earth.

And still, it opens.

And before it reaches upward, it reaches down.

Roots pushing quietly into the darkness, finding their way through heavy soil, around stones, searching for water, nourishment, and something strong enough to hold what has not yet grown.

No one sees this.

We see the flower.

We admire the bloom, the colour, the way its face turns toward the sun. But we rarely think about the roots beneath it; the quiet, unseen architecture that makes all that beauty possible.

As above, so below.

To reach toward the light, we must also be willing to deepen our roots in the dark.

Perhaps that is what our own dark seasons are sometimes doing. Not burying us but rooting us.

Teaching us how far to reach.
What sustains us.
What we can grow around.
And what we must push through.
It's the anchor that holds us when we finally become tall enough to meet the wind.

And then, one day, something blooms.

Not because it escaped the darkness.

But because it was nourished there.

The flower is not separate from everything the seed and roots endured. It is that unseen becoming made visible.

And even the bloom is not the end.

The flower doesn't desperately hold onto its petals simply because they are beautiful. When their purpose has been fulfilled, it lets them fall. And the plant changes again. It bears fruit. It makes more seeds. It rests. It begins again.

Maybe we aren't meant to spend our lives trying to remain perpetually in bloom.

Maybe we are meant to trust the seasons.

To be the seed when it is time to break.
The roots when it is time to deepen.
The stem when it is time to reach.
The flower when it is time to open.
And the falling petals when it is time to let go.

Because when we are still buried in the dark, we cannot possibly know all the small, beautiful things waiting for us above the soil.

The seed cannot imagine the life it hasn't yet lived.

It has no way of knowing that someday it will feel sunlight.

Or that the rain will collect on its petals.

It just anchors its roots to be strong enough to hold it through the storms.

Never knowing that something else might find nourishment because it grew.

Or that one warm sunny afternoon, after all that breaking and rooting and reaching...

that the flower will giggle when a bumblebee drunkenly sleeps on it.

And maybe that is reason enough to trust the darkness.

There are beautiful things waiting for us that the seed could never have imagined.

So go ahead and break. Find your roots. Reach for the sky. Bloom each time with everything you have. And when it is time - it's okay to let go. Because you can always begin again.

2026-06-20T15:09:06.322-04:00

All the grief that swallows us whole is pooling over the edges and bleeding into everything; changing the shape of what it touches.

Chasing hunger

2026-06-17T19:31:11.383-04:00

We’ve mistaken hunger for love and consumption for connection.

Yet the things that sustain us have always been quieter: respect, companionship, affection, patience and safety.

We trade them for intensity;

obsession instead of presence,

attention instead of understanding,

possession instead of intimacy,

performance instead of truth.

It’s all spectacle.

And when the noise fades, and the validation trails off, there’s nothing left to devour or consume. So we find ourselves surrounded by everything we thought we wanted, and starving for the things we actually need. And wondering why we still feel so empty.

But have we mistaken hunger for love? Or have we chosen it?

Hunger is exciting, where love is often quiet, hunger is pursuit, and love is presence, hunger is longing, where love is acceptance. Hunger keeps us moving, when love asks us to stay and let’s be real, staying is much harder than people are willing to admit. Because the idea of, “if I remain hungry, then I can continue chasing and I can continue fantasizing, and I can continue consuming, then I can continue believing that fulfilment exists just beyond the next corner.

We did not mistake hunger for love. We romanticize hunger because it feels more profound. We overlook love, because it can feel ordinary.

Love doesn’t offer that; love says, sit down and be here. You are enough. Love is enough.

Love is the nourishment we are craving, while blindly seeking obsession and excitement. But love - love is grace, love is safety. Love is a place to rest. Love is somewhere nothing is being demanded of you except to just be you. I think this is what we all want. We want the radical idea that our existence, even in the quiet, is enough.

Social media distorts this reality. It makes our heartbreaks, our obsessions, our conflicts, our grande declarations visible. But devotion is quiet, it doesn’t need an audience. The tragedy is that we have built a culture that documents attention and overlooks presence. We chase visibility while starving to be known. We demand to be heard yet forget how to listen.

And if love is grace, if love is safety, if love is a place to rest, then why do we keep choosing hunger?

Capable

2026-06-11T12:34:07.109-04:00

Everyone admires the strength.
Few notice the weight that built it.

They praise the shoulders that never bend, while remaining blind to the burden that made them broad.

Capability is celebrated. The cost is rarely acknowledged.

These veins

2026-06-08T08:55:19.377-04:00

These veins,
they bleed stories of survival.

My wounds do not weep;
they harden.

I will not tear open the scars
that prove I have healed.

I will collect them,
for they are my stories to tell.

They keep my heart soft
and let my soul triumph.

Monarch

2026-05-16T19:39:20.816-04:00

He is the monarch that cannot change his opinion once he has made up his mind. He expresses his thoughts eloquently, owing to the amount of forethought and preparation he has put into them. He may spend his life putting his head first, but that does not imply he cannot articulate his heart: he is governed by his actions, and still, he is a master of his words.

Yesterdays

2026-05-05T18:11:00.001-04:00

Yesterday, I got to spend over an hour on the phone with each of my adult children — real conversations, full of laughter, honesty, stories, memories, and love. Every single moment felt like a gift I never want to take for granted.

As a mother, there is nothing more beautiful than realizing your children still want to share their lives with you once they’ve grown. That they still call. Still talk. Still let you into their hearts.

With Mother’s Day only days away, I’m sitting here overwhelmed with gratitude. Not for perfection, but for connection. For trust. For love that has grown deeper with time.

I don’t know what I did to deserve a day like yesterday, but I know this: I have never felt more lucky, more loved, or more thankful to be their mom.

…as if I was prey

2026-04-14T08:29:07.421-04:00

I offered grace to those who gnawed at it, confusing my softness with weakness, as if I was prey.

I cut them off, my blade simply severed the damage they already inflicted.

Where to begin..

2026-03-31T11:28:00.002-04:00

Dad,

I don’t even know where to begin, because there aren’t enough words to hold everything you are to me.

You are strength in its truest form, not just in what you’ve endured, but in how you’ve lived. An Army Ranger, a fighter, a man who has faced more than most ever will… and still, somehow, you’ve remained gentle, present, and full of life. You’ve carried the weight of so much - your health, your battles, your scars - and yet you still show up every single day as a loving husband, a devoted father, and the best papa anyone could ask for.

You are a rare kind of man. You can do anything, build, cook, write, lead, and you do it all with a quiet confidence that commands respect without ever demanding it. You walk into a room and change it, not because you try to, but because of who you are. And that laugh of yours… it’s one of my favorite sounds in the world.

You’ve always been there for me. Steady. Strong. Loving. You are the one I go to for everything; for advice, for truth, for clarity. You’ve never let me walk through this world blindly, and you’ve never let me settle for less than I deserve. You’ve protected me in ways I don’t even think you fully realize.

And maybe this is selfish… but I don’t want to imagine this life without you in it. I don’t want a world where I can’t call you, where I can’t hear your voice, where I don’t have you to go to when I need guidance or when life feels too heavy. You’re not just my dad, you are my foundation. You are my safe place.

I know you’re tired. I know you’ve been through more than most people could even imagine. And I know you don’t want more procedures, more hospitals, more fighting. But I need you to know how deeply you are loved. How much you matter, not just for everything you’ve done, but for who you are just by being here.

I don’t know what comes next, and that’s the hardest part. But what I do know is this: having you as my dad is one of the greatest blessings of my life. You have shaped me, protected me, and loved me in a way that I will carry forever.

You are the standard for every man in my life. No one compares. No one ever will.

I love you more than I could ever fully say… and I’m not ready to let you go.

But more than anything, I want whatever gives you peace, strength, and more time with us, because every moment with you is something I will never take for granted.

but because maybe…

2026-03-31T08:20:00.002-04:00

What we give isn’t always reciprocated. And we tell ourselves that’s okay, because that’s just who we are. We are the givers; the sanctuaries, the warm hugs, the tenderness in a world full of cruelty. We are the warriors for the weak, the lyrics to the song a lost soul needed to hear.

We are not here to fill voids, we are here to make strangers feel seen and heard. We are the smile, the kindness for the downtrodden, the last glimmer of hope for those ready to let go.

Still, we cling to love with quiet ferocity. We press our faces to the glass, watching others fall into it; waiting, wishing, wanting, hoping, dreaming of the day when the love we give is freely given to us. We wait, and we wait, with the blind faith of a child.

But I won’t let this world change my heart. I won’t let my failures tear me apart. I will keep giving, not because I have to, but because I have it to give. Not because I expect it in return, but because maybe… loving others is the point.

2026-03-31T07:36:00.888-04:00

My branches stopped growing, because my roots needed to grow deeper first.

Non-negotiable

2026-03-27T11:54:00.003-04:00

I’m not blind, and I’m definitely not stupid. I vet people on social media and I investigate like I work for the CIA or FBI, because people expose themselves without realizing it. What you think I can’t see, what you assume I don’t know… I already saw coming. Patterns are loud, and behavior is often predictable, especially if you know anything about psychology or how to read people, and I do. Also I feel energy and still have access to records research platforms.

If I can’t trust you in rooms I’m not in, including your social circle, then you definitely do not see me clearly. Don’t mistake my awareness for insecurity. I see exactly what you choose to show when you think I’m not paying attention.

So please don’t approach me after spending your time following and engaging with half-naked women, feeding into that constant stream of fantasy, and then expect me to take you seriously. I don’t care if they’re “just friends” or whatever excuse you attach to it. It shows me exactly where your attention is.

If chasing quick dopamine matters more than having some semblance of self-control, I already know everything I need to know. I give chances, but please don’t mistake it for tolerance. Once I’m done, I’m done. My cutoff game is sharp, it doesn’t miss, and you will feel it.

I don’t compete with other women, and damn sure not sleazy ones. I’m not a pitstop, and I’m not here to fill gaps in your attention. If that’s what you want, join the other dumbass men willing to suffer through these women that use them for money, validation and likes.

This isn’t insecurity. These are my standards. This is self-respect. I have boundaries. I’m not competing with a feed, and I’m not entertaining half-ass divided attention. I don’t care what other men or other women say or do.

So don’t even bother, because that isn’t respecting me, and I absolutely do not accept this behavior. I respect myself too much.

I have been burned by that bullshit of they’re “just friends”. If you want a woman that is open to being disrespected and is okay with you jerking it to any chic willing to show her tits and ass, trust that I am not the one for you.

This is non-negotiable for me. I value myself and my time.

Pages laid bare

2026-03-19T09:58:00.000-04:00

Your eyes speak your poetry,

please fill the pages laid bare

And I, before you

begging for the stroke of your pen

Dip your ink in love

and draw your name tenderly on my skin

Bouquet of Fire and Moonlight

2026-03-12T08:24:00.002-04:00

I am more than a flower you can pick.

I am a bouquet of beauty; the scent of desire, the fragile petal and graceful stem, alive with color.

A quiet fire burns at my center, breathing life into an unforgettable garden.

I stand tall in the sun, and in moonlight, I bloom.

2026-02-21T09:22:00.002-05:00

Soft spoken, because silence has teeth marks when you’re biting back the truth.

2026-02-21T08:00:00.003-05:00

Even unfulfilled intention leaves a foot print in the real world.

Necessary

2026-02-21T07:59:00.002-05:00

A necessary death, before the beauty of rebirth.

“Lay down your sword, stop fighting, stop confronting, stop dealing with objections and difficulties, and let your wounds heal.”

Versions of us

2026-02-21T07:58:00.001-05:00

Some versions of us exist only as bridges and they are
tender, trembling things that carry us across
until they ask to be left behind.
We grieve them.
And we move on.

A year ago

2026-02-18T01:21:00.005-05:00

A year ago I got a voicemail from my brother. I was at work on the phone. He texted. It felt serious and I could feel his shaken energy. I called him right back.

I have been sorting through the details of that day. I cried for him. She had become a stranger to me, or maybe I to her.

I never thought I would think about that day so much. Or that I would remember her much at all. I watched my brother be tormented by her loss. I felt as though I was betraying him because I didn’t know how to grieve a ghost.

I’m getting ahead of myself.

We didn’t talk and I didn’t help my brother care for her when she fell and then got sick. Not even when he asked me to. He had to move her. He always visited her and got her groceries, took her to eat at Wendy’s, he was there for her. I think he has a tender generous heart and is one of the greatest men in my life.

I couldn’t grieve a mother who abandoned her child. I did offer forgiveness and told her I love her before saying goodbye.

Between the time she passed and the time the nurses came back in after we had our moment alone with her. It was a blur. And we were sitting in a hospital cafeteria discussing what needed to happen next.

I was so detached from her, and fully aware of my brother’s shock and disbelief and overwhelming sadness that crept across his face. I read the paper the nurse handed him. Her body had to be moved within 24 hours. I said are we going to bury her or have her cremated?

It was the hardest question I had to ask my brother and suddenly the room felt cold and I went stiff. He said we would cremate her. Then he got on his phone to get prices for transport and cremation.

It was robotic. It made no sense to me. I didn’t feel the loss of her. My brother and I cried a little more. It was hard to see him so sad. It was gut wrenching to hear him cry. I felt like a failure trying to console him. I felt like I had been released, I got to forgive her, I got to say goodbye. I held her hand and I let go. I felt freedom. But I couldn’t embrace it, my brother was deeply saddened and fraught by grief.

We went back to his apartment. His sponsor came by and a friend. My brother lost his mother and he needed me.

The next few days were hectic. I was working two jobs and he asked me to help him go through her stuff at her place.

It was a mess. She was a hoarder. She kept a lot of things. I tried to understand her scribbling on envelopes and sometimes triplicate of the same pictures of my brothers and I. It was hard to go through it for my brother. It didn’t feel like we got much done. After a few hours we gave up. We went and had Wendy’s. I didn’t know that he took her there, or that she was one of the few people that he felt accepted by without judgment. He had never told me.

And I remember all the times he said they had fought, he told me about that. I was surprised to hear him speak of her so lovingly. I didn’t remember her lovingly.

I tried to console him again as he cried. I hated to see him so sad. It felt like there was a lump in my throat I couldn’t swallow. My mouth felt dry.

He said he would hire someone to go get the rest. We talked a week later. We made plans. We broke them. He went to group. He was on call. We made plans. We watched movies for his birthday. He didn’t want to do much. He was still mourning.

I went kayaking without him the following weekend. I found a new place to rent and launch. The place we used to go to, got hit bad by the hurricane five months prior. I needed to get out on the water. I couldn’t breathe. A lot was going on. A lot had happened since I was last in the middle of the water taken by the sheer power of nature. I needed to feel something bigger than my little world. I needed to touch water and feel the sun kiss my skin. I wanted to paddle out into the unknown away from people uncertain of whether the sea wanted to claim me. I had to go. I was being pulled.

I found this fantastic massive sandbar where the water was crystal clear. I laid back and floated a while. It was too shallow for anything big to bump me. If anything I had to worry about the kayak running ground. I didn’t think about my problems I just drifted and paddled. On the way back the wind had picked up and it was getting choppy, I had to cross back over the channel to get near where I launched from. Three and a half hours of paddling was enough. If I stayed out much longer I would tip the waves were that big. It was a hard paddle back. I moved so effortlessly driven by the fear of a wave knocking me over.pure adrenaline and excitement. I didn’t know this layout or kayak path. It was deep water there were windsurfers and jet skis nearby. I was paddling hard but the wind and current were pushing against me.

I ended up near the bridge. I sat still for a few minutes. I watched the windsurfers. There were kids on the beach with big kites. An event hall a little off the road. A wedding ceremony was about to start and someone was playing bagpipes. Fucking bagpipes. Dressed in full Scottish kilt. I had the best seat out on the water. The wind and currents still carrying my kayak out to the bridge again. I would have to paddle harder back. But the sound of the bagpipes and the seeing a wedding ceremony all while being tossed about in an open kayak was pretty damned cool. I needed my own way to grieve a mother I barely knew and the only real memories I had, weren’t like my brother’s, though not fair to compare.

Early one morning my brother calls me. There was a fire. Can he come stay the night at my place. Uhm hell yes, get over here.

His apartment building caught fire. He lost everything. When his neighbor banged on his door to tell him to get out he was in his underwear and a tshirt. No shoes. He grabbed his wallet phone and keys. He and fellow neighbors watched as nearly half the building burned before being put out finally. A neighbor in another building offered to give him sweatpants. He was coming my way after stopping to buy shoes and a toothbrush and stuff.

He came with his only items in a walmart bag. He took pictures. His apartment only had a partial frame next to where his front door once was.

I walked him through how to file a fire claim. I had to order scrubs overnight for him so he would have work clothes.

He went to stay at a hotel close to his work, two days later. About 5 days later he got a new place at the same apartment complex. Insurance paid for him to replace all his stuff.

It took him a while to figure out what he wanted. He took his time. He lost everything.

I think about the last year. I think about it a lot. I think how everything happened and how it all seemed to have to happen. I think about everything my brother endured and how well he handled things when I know inside he was falling apart. I know he’s full of sadness today. I will call him at lunchtime. I just need to know my little brother is okay.

Besides he got to fly to Seattle to see his daughter and granddaughters. And I can’t wait to see him light up talking about a truly wonderful way to end the year.

2026-02-17T20:59:00.000-05:00

The blade dipped right in and got twisted.

You learn from your mistakes.

You decide.

Nothing to it.

You have unlimited power.

Those days

2026-02-17T20:47:00.002-05:00

Some days I am courting insanity

Some days I am courting disaster.

Some days I am laughing

Those days it is both.

Some days by intention.

Some days by coincidence.

Some days by phenomenon.

Some days by comedy.

Those days I am laughing

Some days I am beauty.

Some days I am pain.

Some days I am art.

Those days I am laughing

Some days by poetry.

Some days by peril.

Some days by luck.

Those days I am laughing

Some days I am fortune.

Some days I am sorrow.

Some days I am passion.

Those days I am laughing

Those days I am courting insanity.

Those days I am courting disaster.

Those days I am me.

Too busy to notice

2026-02-04T11:08:00.002-05:00

I miss those mornings where the house was loud and alive. The chattering of my children; the arguing, the laughing, the hurriedness of trying to get them all fed and in the car and out the door in time.

I miss it. I miss it so much that sometimes when I wake and the house is quiet, I cry. Wishing I could hear my kids yelling at each other one more time. Calling for me to break up an argument or help them find a pair of socks. God how I miss those moments. I didn’t realize how much I would miss them. But today, the quiet echoes so loudly, it feels unbearable and empty. I wish they were all little again, needing me, needing their mom.

Yes I lived it, I loved it and I paid attention to the noise and chaos when it was there. But today my heart aches for the tender moments when children were just children and I was too busy to notice the world around me.

How’s the weather?

2026-01-18T10:10:00.001-05:00

Sometimes I tend to over explain myself to people who too often, just don’t care. Even when they asked me the question. This is terribly frustrating how easily I get manipulated into thinking I owe any response at all.

It’s generally the same handful of people. It’s years of conditioning, from how I was raised or an environment I stayed in too long. Whatever the reason, I still feel compelled to respond this way.

I have been working on undoing this behavior for years. I practice saying no.. a lot. Though I will still find myself explaining why and then have to stop. I practice not answering at all, but avoidance is just as depleting. I don’t know whether this inclination to over explain will ever go away.

So when I talk to someone that does care, and they acknowledge me, I simply do not know what to do with myself, and can often get quiet.

I am not a quiet person I like to talk, I like to ask questions. I am naturally curious, but the little voice inside me starts to wonder am I putting this person in a position where they feel the need to explain themselves. Am I perpetuating the same behavior?

I also get quiet because I overthink as I am talking, and that’s when I let the conversation fall flat. I wonder am I too much? Am I making them uncomfortable, am I annoying? Or maybe they made me feel like I have to be in my head to have this conversation and why..?

The reality is, most people won’t know what to do or how to converse with me. Some may say I ask too many questions or that I push back on their answers and ask a dozen more. I was told in the past that talking to me can feel a lot like a cross examination. But that’s because they were lying. I am my father’s daughter.

Years of self help and reading and comprehension, just scouring for answers or pouring myself into ways meant to dim the behavior. The reality is, I’m so good at over explaining that I will also keep asking questions, usually an attempt to nudge the truth forward. I just want complete logical answers that make sense. Make it make sense!!

So yes I can find the hole in a response and start picking at that scab until it bleeds.

It’s exhausting, but so is realizing someone thinks you’re stupid and lies. I have always been a safe space people for honesty. It’s too easy to needle questions until the truth is exposed.

Breaking the cycle takes work. And I put that heavily on myself to stop over explaining and more importantly stop barraging someone with questions. No matter how you frame something, if someone sets out to lie, they are going to lie. It doesn’t matter if you made it a safe space for transparency or not.

So yeah, I’m not so good at navigating conversation anymore after that. I just let people say what they’re going to say and make fools of themselves. It’s much easier than trying to wrangle the truth. They think I am stupid, like I haven’t been dealing with liars my whole life.

Being self aware, I can’t avoid when I can see through bullshit, so I just ask yes or no questions and let the conversation painfully fall to small talk. I don’t do small talk, so I will also leave the conversation mid sentence.

I get to choose who I converse with now, so I don’t have to over explain or try to pry the truth out of anyone anymore. It’s liberating to know I can just be myself and have deep conversations and thoughts that evoke healthy emotions with someone that actually respects me.

Anyway, how’s the weather?

Breathtaking

2026-01-09T20:14:00.004-05:00

It’s not just that the morning air was crisp and cool, and the sun just beginning to beam and shine in the early hours. It was the way the wind chimes would casually move and the air would fill with music. It was the prisms that glittered and glistened and moved quietly over shadows obstructed from the suns view.

Maybe it was the laziness of two cats basking in the sun and a dog that laid loyally at my feet. I just wanted to lean in to the sun and soak up all the beauty, and delicately hold it in my hands and place it gently in my pocket. I wanted to romanticize and remember every minute detail, so I wouldn’t forget the way it warmed me, the way the soft scent of flowers and coffee floated softly, the way Persephone pounced on Winston and loved on him at the same time begging for his attention, the way Anastasia lay on her side like Bastet on the wrought iron chair, the outreach of her tiny paws. Yes I want to remember the smile I woke with and my tousled hair and all too cozy pjs. I wanted to bookmark this memory because the decadence of a moment was so simply amazing and also how I felt.

It wasn’t overwhelming beauty, no that was the wrong word to describe it, it was breathtaking.