I’m practicing seeing. Not the seeing inside my head which is all the time, but seeing outside of me, and particularly, seeing details. Allan Smorra, a new blogging friend (check out his site, he has some very cool shots) , wrote, “I have found the lesson to lie in the details.”

A storm skirts Kansas City. The tall oak outside my window whips. I see strong trunk surrounded by swirling branches, dry leaves, sunlight gleaming. Allan said look at details. I drill my eyes to two green leaves, shining as if they believe spring’s on its way, cupped in a palm of golden leaves. That kind of focus does not come naturally to me. I can say it’s because I grew up on the prairie; or I could say I call myself See-Far Woman.

On the other hand, I see like that when I’m writing poetry. I look at details. Hmmmmm.

…the only real study I’d been consistent with seemed to be pinning myself on a wall like a moth and examining the carcass. … a partial sentence from the memoir but it’s true. Maybe you could say I see the unseen world best.

My son, the eldest, is much like Allan although probably some younger. Not a lot, but he’s, the son, not much younger than I am either. I married young.

Stephen is a big man. He has big hands. And when the bookcase shuddered and knocked off the ceramic shoe given to my mother in a San Francisco hospital when I was born, I gave the fragments to Stephen. He put it back together.

He, like Allan, offers concise sentences. On an evening when he and I were cleaning up after dinner, I scraped my arm while putting away a pan. I, who am given to bruises, and the older I am the more bruises threaten. “Dang!” I said.

Stephen, washing dishes, looked at me. He more like stared at me. “Mom…you’re not careless…..” He went back to washing dishes. I waited. He washed two plates. He turned to me. “You don’t think about consequences.” (Yes, Allan, I know you’ll like that line.)

Well. I whooped. “I never think about consequences!” I said. “I do something. If it works fine. If it doesn’t work, I do something else.”

And therein lies the practice. I became aware of consequences. I’ve not bruised my arms as often and the bruises smaller. Now I’ll practice seeing details.