The view from my writing window is deliberately unspectacular. The second-story, double bank of windows is wider than my long desk, but it's on the side of the house looking over our concrete driveway, our garage, and the tar paper shingles of the neighbor's roof. One old oak tree between the houses climbs at least four stories high, but it has been largely denuded by recent storms and was never much to start with. I put my desk here for the light and space. I really don't need any more distractions than those which I can easily provide myself.
Perhaps it's because we've had bad weather for so long or I'm at a chapter break or maybe because I never bothered to pay attention, but the view is buzzing with life this morning.
Three squirrels are playing a frantic tag game on the neighbor's roof while a few of their homies jump from our tree branches to the forest on the other side of the neighbor's house. They are small, scrawny southern squirrels, not like the sassy, full-tailed Yankees I grew up with, but these boys can really jump.
Two black and white woodpeckers with bright red caps are working away on the tree trunk, while six cardinals in male/female pairs flitter between the tall bush tops at the neighbor's house. A pair of brilliant male blue jays are engaged in some type of territorial battle which seems to involve dive bombing each other. And I used to think Jays were passive pretty boys.
How many thousands of times have a stood in the driveway below and not seen any of this?
Is it just a matter of changing perspective?
Or simply if you delay start of the next chapter long enough, you're bound to see something?



Copyright 2004 Judi Griggs