Earlier today I was standing at the kitchen sink washing dishes and looking out the window to the lake across the street. A squirrel in the tree directly in front of our house caught my eye. It was sitting so still, so serenely, staring out at the lake too. It was so still it took me a minute to figure out what it was.
I named him Stanley.
I crept outside, phone in hand, to capture Stanley in a picture sure to win some sort of photography award. Hop, sensing my unusual midday escape from the house, came bolting out from nowhere. His meows roared through the cove shaking the leaves on the trees and the echoes reverberated off the hillside. Stanley, sensing Hop’s presence, quickly hightailed it outta there. I was left feeling disappointed-my moment with nature interrupted. Instead, I took this picture of the tree and the grey sky.
I’m sure Stanley is in there, somewhere.
And then I noticed this wet corner full of leaves; the reflection revealing a hint of blue sky as the clouds rolled over the cove.
It was then that I realized my moment with nature hadn’t really been interrupted, merely altered.
My moment with nature was the leaves, the fresh lake air, the fog rolling in and settling, and the deep breaths that filled my lungs with air and my heart with appreciation. My moment with nature was all around.