There is a place in Minnesota, a magical place, where everyone is beautiful. It's not the moonlight, which scatters across obsidian northern lakes and filters down through tall, leafy trees into fractals of glimmer. It's not the sounds, of the loon or of the sweet humid night breeze or of the quiet lapping of lake water against sand and smooth pebbled stone, trailing wayward bits of sea grass. It's the shadowy figures, darting joyously, deviously between trees. It's the two figures silhouetted against the night, rocking on a wood-slatted swing facing the darkened, sleeping lake. It's the heads tilting together and the shoulders encircled by a bandaged arm. It's the laughter punctuating the love song drifting out from inside a wooden cabin after lights-out.
Moore M. The Beautiful Place. Arch Dermatol. 2002;138(2):175–176. doi:10.1001/archderm.138.2.175
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