Time and Sight

It is a habit I have. Seeing
things others do not. True
things mostly, little parcels of beauty
missed somehow, ignored, not flashy
enough to break through the day to day of people’s lives,
and yet, once pointed out, the inevitability
of beauty is suddenly vibrant and loud
and never again unseen.
It is a slow thing, seeing. It takes time
to cut through the noise and the obvious,
and a willingness to sit with it all,
let the wind blow and with it,
the chaff, until finally the treasure underneath
shows itself, a thing, never perfect,
but wonderful. And wonderful is good enough
for me.

About this poem

I am slow in many ways. Regular readers know this. But slowness has its virtues. It’s where we see the best, through the smoke and mirrors and noise, to the things that lie underneath. Sometimes, I like being slow.

The picture is of two small stones hand painted by a neighbor and talented artist, Heidi Hamel.

Tom