The Art of Observation

My adventure for today, as recorded mentally from a rather comfortable park bench toward the edge of campus:

I “smelled the trees and the nature,” as our favorite Office nincompoop Dwight Schrute would say.

I heard the constant hum of the busy street several blocks away, and the yells of neighborhood kids brought on by their apparently intense game of basketball.

I heard the laughter and frustrated groans of a couple about my age, trying out the frisbee golf course.

I heard birds sing and cars rev, bare tree branches rustle as winged residents came and went, the breeze stirring up leaves that had been incarcerated under a heavy blanket of snow only a few days ago.

Walking from there to here, I felt freshly thawed earth under my thin-soled shoes.

I saw no fewer than thirteen squirrels, doing whatever it is they do when it feels like spring in the middle of winter.

I counted three bird nests, five examples of modern outdoor sculpture, and four white cars, one of which drove past twice-maybe their GPS gave them some bad advice.

I glimpsed what seemed like a second sun, filtering through a window in the clouds to create a rainless rainbow.

 

I occupied that park bench for a grand total of forty minutes. There was nothing to read and no one to text, but it wasn’t boring at all-because I was making an effort to focus on anything but myself. Just sitting on a park bench, imbuing sunlight, listening to the sound of the world surrounding me.