Looking Up

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I look down when I walk.

I like the patterns of leaves and pine needles strewn across the path.

I enjoy seeing the way my footprints and the paw-prints of my two dogs mingle with the heart-shaped hoof prints left by deer, and the large twiggy prints left by ranging flocks of wild turkeys, on the road created by the logging trucks that cuts through the woods behind my house.

I like to watch the dogs as they, by turns, walk purposefully forward as if headed for a specific destination, meander – nose to the ground – investigating what went this way before us, and run, full out, after a chipmunk or robin or squirrel.

Out of necessity, I watch the ground for safety’s sake. In the winter, ice; this time of year, it’s holes in the road or wind-fall branches or frost-heaved rocks that could trip me up.

So it happened that I was almost a mile from home this morning, before I noticed the sky. Such a beautiful, intense blue! How could I have missed it?

More important, what if I had missed it?

How many things go unnoticed because I’m looking down when I should be looking up? And what a metaphor for life!

It’s a fine thing to be well-grounded, but I intend to spend more time looking up!

 

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6 responses »

  1. Looking up with you, Cindy. Every time we turn the direction of our habitual attention, I think we learn something new. Glad the sky nudged you away from your feet. 🙂

    • Kate, that means so much coming from you! You bring kindness and warmth to everything you write; I am impressed almost daily by your gentle humor. Thanks for reading, and for your generous comments!

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