The Art of Noticing

You know how children’s stories and Christmas movies and other fantastical tales often have a moment where the kids are getting older and start doubting the magic of life?

Often, in these movies and books it’s quite literal, fantastic magic which they had experienced like dragons and wizards and talking lions or whatever.

Then there’s that moment when they have to choose, they have to remember, they have to open themselves up rather than close themselves off, and just believe—then they’ll experience the magic again.

Well, I don’t think it’s so much about belief as it is about noticing. Noticing what’s around us all the time. I’m not going to promise you wise dragons or talking lions, but magic IS everywhere. We just have to have the eyes for it.

Today I went for a run. It’s December. The leaves have all but fallen and begun their decomposition. The clouds are a near permanent fixture. The sun doesn’t rise over the mountains till like 10 or 11 in the morning.

Yet, this was perhaps one of the most magnificent, stunningly beautiful mornings of my entire life. It’s was damn near magical.

I didn’t have to believe. I just had to see.

My gosh, the numerous shades of brown! The subtle shifts of blue and green and turquoise in the waters. And just the perfect break in the morning clouds to cause a stark, horizontal line of pure sunlight on the western mountains, shining a light on the depths and textures of the evergreens.

As I ran south towards the ocean, I kept staring up at the show of light on the wall of firs. Sometimes fading out and expanding as the clouds obscured and revealed the rays of the sun.

Reaching the terminus of my southward expedition I caught birds soaring, well, about as high as any bird can soar without embodying the mythical Icarus which, of course, meant Bald Eagles. Wow. The way they ride the winds, hardly exerting any effort, surfing the currents of the sky…

They were numerous. Nine I counted circling over the estuary. Among them were six crows, not quite as high in altitude—tricky little fuckers who seem to keep all birds in check, even the Eagle despite being out of reach. I stopped and watched their hypnotic motions.

What it must feel like to fly that high?

As my gaze fell back down to Earth I noticed blue tinted clouds behind the western mountain, with that horizontal line of sunlight still illuminating the evergreens and a contrasting dark grey cloud just above, creating a sort of contrasting glow around the edges where the mountains meet the sky.

I thought, “if I was a painter I would have to try and capture the subtle complexity of all these shades and colours and textures and light.” I also thought people would doubt that this was a scene from life and not imagination.

I’m not a painter so I just stared at it for a minute, etching it into my brain—at least for a while. Time to turn around and head back home filled with The joy, reverence and peace that moments of Earthly existence seem to afford.

I took some treed paths on my return, occasionally glancing through the bare deciduous branches to see if I could still spot the Eagles high above… but… what’s this??

Could it be?

A mother fucking Rainbow. 🌈

Goodness, the gods were smiling on me today! And, knowing how a rainbow occurs makes experiencing a rainbow no less magical. There’s no rule book or guarantee that says ANY of this (life, earth, the cosmos) should exist. It just does. And it’s unfathomably beautiful.

I don’t have to believe in rainbows. Or that birds could soar 20 thousand feet above. Nor do I have to believe that a giant nuclear reactor sitting at a very fine distance from us would shine down its warming, life-giving rays. Or that so many shades of brown could possibly exist and I would have the physicality to see so many of them.

I just have to notice.