Resetting the Lens

My view has shrunk. Although I'm aware of national and global issues (at some times hyper-aware), because of the pandemic, resultant social distancing, and previous (and future!) quarantines, my lens has been honed to local: country roads, state and city parks, backyard, front porch, office, chair.

A summer azure in the rain in July

I think time has shifted, too, and lock-down has forced me to alter the way I think.

For example, I'm noticing things right in front of my face. I am focusing on the little things, like local wildflowers. The joy of learning about fleabane has been a surprise. It has become my new favorite flower and it was everywhere, at least in May in Maryland. How could I have never noticed this before?

Fleabane in May

After eyeing it from the car and bike, I picked some (it's neither protected nor rare). I discovered how it is surprisingly soft despite the petals appearing rather pointy. And before the flowers uncurl, they look to me like miniature balls of wound yarn. If you get close enough, you'll notice they have a mild, general "flowery" smell.

This resetting of my lens reminds me of the lab at the vet clinic. When you peer into it trying to look at a smear of ear gunk to find mites or yeast, or count white blood cells, or examine a manure sample to count parasite eggs, and find someone's been messing with the settings, you have to fiddle around to get it right again so you can see properly. Recently, I feel like I've gone from 100X magnification to 400X and someone's messed with the focus. But on the other hand, sometimes at the microscope, you realize that you did need a higher setting, to see things in greater detail. 

Purple crown vetch in June

I'm reminded of my favorite poet Mary Oliver who wrote extensively about nature. I've been propelled to pull out one of her collections from my shelf and sift through it again, as I do from time to time. Her words ring true as always; they are soothing, a balm. And also confirmatory. Here, from her poem "The Sun" (New and Selected Poems Volume One):

"Have you ever seen
anything
in your life
more wonderful

than the way the sun,
every evening,
relaxed and easy,
floats toward the horizon . . . "

And Virginia Woolf, who is not my usual go-to when it comes to observational quotes, but really should be:

"Happiness is in the quiet, ordinary things. A table, a chair, a book with a paper-knife stuck between the pages. And the petal falling from the rose, and the light flickering as we sit."

What small new things have you discovered recently?