Noticing

I think it was Mark Twain who said he was a great "noticer."  Most of my favorite writers seem to have excellent noticing skills.  An ability to capture details of a moment that breath life into the description.  Whether it is Terry Tempest Williams with her poetic prose on the red rocks in Utah or the almost scientific analysis of the Colorado River by John Wesley Powell, their observations are captured and shared with us.  We are able  to share that second, that instant with the writer.  I can walk the canyons with Terry Tempest Williams or grab the gunnels with John Wesley Powell as we tentatively float to the edge of a rapid in Cataract Canyon.

We walk the same watershed almost every day during the week, or when we are home on the weekends.  It has been a full year since I began this walk, and every day I see something different.  Whether it is the Great Blue Heron, or the log, which I noticed yesterday.  Cedar, maybe about 8 feet long, laying in the creek.  The water has hollowed out its course, such that it flows through the log.  On top, moss and small ferns grow on the fertile decomposing mulch.  Nature's landscaper created another masterpiece.

Then, as we ascended from the lake, I saw the first Goldfinch of the season, darting from the Douglas firs and Cedars over looking the lake to the Scotch broom on the hillside.  

The sun warms Murph's legs, allowing her to walk a little faster.  She seems to enjoy the walk, sniffing, observing, noticing.  If only she could write...

Murphy's day.