Elegance comes from a strength or power in equipoise. It is the balance of understated beauty. It rises from within not from frills, diamonds or money. It surfaces into an aesthetic of gestures, many of which are merely implied, and focused with unselfconscious simplicity. When we see real elegance, when a dancer reminds us how to move in space, or a singer to inflect or lilt, or a writer lands a phrase lightly, we remember how to soar, wing, to alight, and to pause. And rather than exotic it seems strangely familiar, a déja vu, the freedom that need not writhe to realize that our invisible breath from our soul is mere — air. It is the secret of a caress, kindness before sentiment, at times the child’s and the very old’s white flag before conflict. It is patterns of raindrops on a windowpane, snowflakes tumbling in faint starlight. It is the precision of perception not things.


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