I am not observant; as others commenting on the fiveminutefriday prompt this week have also said. In truth, when I writing I’m remarkable unobservant and have to remind myself not to create stories in my head while driving!
The space where I usually write is our sun room. It is a conservatory but with a floor above it, supported by a stout steel upright cloaked in wood. For the last two weeks we have been decorating. The windows have been caked in plaster dust, and the naked bulbs have hung from the ceiling creating a harsh light and casting strange shadows around the pillar. The view of the garden, which usually inspires my subconscious, has been obscured. It has surprised us how uncomfortable we feel without this room. We have other places to sit, but not so full of light, or offering such a clear observation post for the garden.
It has made me wonder about the damage to my spiritual vision if it is blinded by distractions, and obscured by accumulated detritus. I am reminded of the line in The Elixir by George Herbert A man who looks on glass, on it may stay his eye; or if he pleases through it pass and then the heaven espy.
We have to make the effort to see clearly. There is a small brick pond outside our window. I can choose to look at the surface of the pond, the fallen leaves, the plants that grow and decay, or I can look into the water and watch fish, and snails, and occasionally a frog, swimming freely below.
The preparation is done and the painting is nearly complete. Today I cleaned the windows and we can look out onto the pond again. In the lawn pale spikes of crocuses thrust their way to the surface, opening into bright yellow and purple goblets. Squirrels chase each other through the trees, unaware that we were temporarily out of touch. Their Creator is eternally observant of us.
‘For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face.’ 1 Corinthians 13 verse 12.