The snow has finally stopped and a light drizzle of
rain falls from a flat grey sky. Icicles drip from the eves of the
house and snow falls from the evergreens. The birds are less frequent at
the feeders now that the snow is melting, however, a humming bird continues to
visit the red glass bottle feeder in the garden every few minutes capturing our
attention and entertaining us through the large picture window on an otherwise
uneventful snowy winter day. The garden is covered in snow. The
orderly rows of black containers with their tangle of grape vines present a
contrast of black and white, order and disarray.
Only the stalks of last
years harvest seem to find their way above the snow in other parts of the
garden. Last year's growth, that
should have been cleaned out long ago, still lingers as a reminder of warm summer
days and a bounty of fruits and vegetables.
I am learning to see.
This is the year I am learning to observe my
surroundings. Not the garden and yard I am so familiar with. Not
the view out over the hills to the distant lake. Not the familiar things
I can visualize so easily with my eyes closed. But really see. The
things that I have walked by a thousand times and looked at directly and yet
somehow looked through as if they were a clear pane of glass or not really
there. This is the year I will try see what I have always been looking at
but have never really seen.
My garden will be the setting for for this new
experiment.
Not the big world around, but a small space in my back yard.
A world within my garden ... as amazing as any distant land, I believe,
when I open my eyes. Really open my eyes and see.
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