The Observationist

 

 

 

 

Any ideas CT?

 

 

Three women sitting in the garden having a cup of tea. The sun is shining after a dull start to the day, and the air is still and warm with just a whisper of a breeze. The conversation is flowing freely, and there is laughter. There are conspiratorial conversations, and ribald jokes. One person is not fully engaged in the process. Her eyes are darting here and there. She is distracted by glimpses of little things with wings. Her attention is elsewhere. She misses whole passages of chat, and is gently mocked for her sudden jumping up and out of her chair to inspect something in the grass.

 

She grabs her camera to make a record of things she sees. She isn't able to capture it all, but doesn't mind. It is the experience that she relishes the most. The being there when it happens. She is thrilled that it is happening in her humble plot. She wonders what else might be crawling and flying and wriggling and walking through. She feels a pure joy that comes with connecting with something other; the bee, the butterfly, the slowworm, the frog, the bird.

 

She cannot put a name to everything that she sees. But she feels that the seeing, the noticing, is the most crucial bit. It's the acknowledgement to herself that it was there. That she saw it all is the bit that makes her insides swell with the wonder of it all. It brings colour and drama and depth to her life, and she is forever grateful to it. When she is frazzled and worn down to a nub, she can look out of the window and be calmed and restored at the life witnessed outside.

 

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Thank you for your wonderfully generous comments on my last post.

Welcome all those new to here.

A smile and a wave to you all.

I shall be away for about a week.

Love and kisses.

 

Leanne xx