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?