Today I update my recent walking report with a riding one.
Do you remember the tree tale?
Oaks split by lightning — or old age — chopped then ground down to create something new. What, precisely is subject to a writer’s walking eyes.
Intrigued by my starfish observations, DH suggested a look‐see. Up close. From a wheeled perspective. I pulled up to the spot.
I rebutted right back: “Bevo?”
My instinctive answer reflects a distant past at UT‐Austin. Four years of Saturdays at Longhorn football games ended with a national championship. An exercise in giddy jubilation. Even the big‐ass longhorn steer we called Bevo mooed for Earl Campbell and his big‐as‐log thighs as they hightailed into the touchdown zone.
Nowadays, you won’t ever see me at a football game. Multi‐level brain sensitivities—a blog post for another day?—preclude me from returning to that past. But ancient wiring lasts a lifetime, resurfacing at the oddest moments.
I digress. (This happens. Call it post‐menopausal privilege.)
Staring at the flattened remnants of the tree, my eyes studied the woody bits. No cow from this street view. I turned into the parking lot and there he rested, awaiting eyes that could see.
You win, DH. Although I will offer this in my defense: there’s a slight rise in the earth which hides Bevo’s devil horns. You know, like maybe it’s really an Aggie Bevo you’re seeing.
After our couple’s drama, I remained intrigued so drove to the other leveled trees. Could there be longhorns lurking there, too?
Here’s the tree mess I’ve yet to decipher. After working all afternoon to find a creative shape, I gave up on this old oak blob. So I invite your eyes to look.
This simple couple‐experience taught me much.
To everything, there’s a learning. This one offered a quick class in New Ways of Seeing.
It’s worth looking again.
Inviting other looks.
Capturing perceptions and sharing perspectives — both of eyes and I’s — enrich life and expand minds.
Isn’t this what life and the matrix — as illuminated two weeks ago — is all about?
Could this be the writer’s true mission?