(photo by Tabitha Bird)
"In a world that demands attention, it's the little things that steal mine."
It was the end of day that had called my name. Called it long and called it hard. Do you know the day I mean? The one with the music playing so repetitively the lyrics loose their meaning.
And on that day, at the end of that day, I stole away to a place where the leaves of tree hum the song of twilight. There with my camera I remembered something.
Children are the masters of 'seeing little.'
Two Lego bricks are dinosaurs. Stick are swords. Roads made of sheets and pillows are rivers with crocodiles in them. With such imaginations children follow a row of ants and they pick up the rust colored leaves because such things are whole new ways of seeing the world. The ants are friends off to a picnic, or tiny spies sent by a bug army. The leaf is a fairy's hat or a dragon's lunch.
That's when I remembered. Just me and the camera. And the stillness. What a threesome we were, what a grand party, because who should find me but the child I once was.
Inside me she me whispered, "Do you see how the grasshopper bends the blade of grass it sits on? Look at the rock with eye pattern. Touch the speckled feather."
It was that same child who saw the dragonfly. There on a branch above my head.
Sitting. Seeing. Watching me.
Watching me while I was quiet.
Watching me while I found the magic.
Watching me while I remembered how to let a dragonfly steal my attention.
What about you? Life is very loud. What steals your attention?