Can you peer under the corners of the rush? Can the yellow of the lemon make any impression? It is precisely the rush that requires taking notice of the yellow of the lemon. I don’t want the uneasiness of a day gone by and a blur remaining. I am compelled to pick out a few small stones and turn them over in my hand.
Sometimes they can only be the tiniest of stones. Not something I would place on a window ledge, but just what was there. Worthy of a glance from me somehow. Worth looking at against each other, fleetingly.
Swimming lessons, and the arresting blue of the water every time. Half an hour, and everything stops for once, and I stare at the water. I hear it, and the reflections of the light on it move. I am not in it, but here is the example of looking at something you want, something you like, something pleasing. I take note: here is something I want to immerse myself in, alone and gliding, when I can. Arms and legs with a different weight.
And it’s easy to love the joy of the first spring plays. The leaps are Leaps, the shouts are Shouts. The running is unguarded and exultant.