Spring is in full bloom. I can see it and I can feel it. It’ll be gone before I know it. That’s the way things to work – gone and replaced by something new. The flowering trees and shrubs are in full bloom and they are absolutely stunning with their pinks, reds, and whites.
Yet, with the flowers comes the pollen and it is in the air. I can feel it. O can feel it, W, too. And, maybe even Ivy. I climbed into the car yesterday morning and ran the windshield wipers to clean away the pollen dust.
I have been enjoying the colors on my journeys to and fro – on my way to school and on my way home. Or just simply walking through the neighborhood breathing in fresh air and walking patiently behind Ivy.
This evening, while on my walk with Ivy, I looked closely at the blooms, and I noticed an intricacy I had never taken in before. The beauty of the small flower hidden by the whole. Sheer simplicity and intricacy in one bloom coupled together with another bloom and another and an entire tree or bush covered in blooms.
It’s interesting how simple some parts of our world seem, until we look closely and examine what we see.
I found the video below during Earth Week and and thought it was worth sharing – penguin poop and lady bugs. I am not kidding – it’s all connected. I watched it in class with my students – it’s environmental science. Trust me, I am a scientist.
Today was a wonderful day and tomorrow could possibly be a million and six times better, but however many times it exceeds today, it’ll probably be intricate when I look closely and stop and breathe. Making the Days Count, one day at a time, one step, one walk, one moment to look closely.
When was the last time you stopped to look closely? What did you see?
Today’s post is in response to the Daily Post’s Weekly Photo Challenge – Intricate – prompt – at Word Press. What does the word “intricate” mean to you? It could be the deep, fibrous bark on the ancient oak tree in your yard. Maybe it’s the robin’s nest under construction near your window — that ornithological engineering marvel of mud and twigs. It could be the treasured piece of needlepoint your grandmother crafted, or maybe a drawing you made. It could be the leaves falling from trees in the Southern Hemisphere — the wind arranging them just so on your lawn.
I can’t wait to see your interpretations!