Nothing escapes me....nothing. It is always my full intent.
The tiniest fleck on the floor, the mole crawling through its grassy tunnel, the downy feather caught on the rough stem of a coneflower, a flittering, fluttering butterfly. Sight, sound, smell all come to me unfettered. I acknowledge and welcome them all.
In the world beyond the kitchen door, I gather the sights, sounds and smells to me and find pleasure in their being: the peepers cheerily clinging to trees; the chickadee scolding me for sitting too close to the bird feeder, the breeze wafting scents of catmint, earth, strange cat markings, mice and moles.
My Own takes cursory note of these same sights, sounds and smells. But she often disappoints me when her breaks to ‘be’ are shortened by a hasty return to weeding and watering. My crossed, rolling eyes, colored like a crisp autumn sky, always make her pause; but never long enough. My Own has yet to learn to stop in the manner I have perfected; and lay on the grass luxuriating in the blithe symphony that is nature.
I have my work cut out for me.
Noll
