Learning to See

No man can say his eyes have had enough of seeing. . .
— Ecclesiastes 1:8
Perhaps for you
these meadows
are like our mesas.

Perhaps for you
the awe
I feel
at all
this green
will become
just another
summer memory.

these sunny-faced daisies
elegant Queen Anne’s lace
willowy grasses
are merely weeds
waiting to be mowed.

But to me
they are
green miracles
of a liquid blessing
floral apostles
of Love.

My friend
the doctor
on the Res
sometimes feels
his only purpose there
is not healing
but to fill plastic jugs
with clear liquid
from his bathroom tap
for those
to whom this
necessity for living
has become a luxury.

I confess
that sometimes
our blood red mesas
merely form
the scenic backdrop to my life.

I do feel wonder
but of a muted kind
not giddy with the joy
I feel this morning
in this meadow
with these flowers
and these birds
this lush verdure
all around me —

The gleeful childlike joy of new.

What if
we remembered
every day
to learn to see
with fresh eyes
that which we come
to take for granted

To look with gratitude
on that which we
merely to expect to be?

What if
what we call
common and mundane
brought the same fascination as
our very first
snow-capped mountain
cascading waterfall
roadside deer and fawn
red gold autumn hillside?

Perhaps to learn
to see anew
really is
that illusive elixir
that turns back time
to the fresh wonder of childhood
the awe of first sight
the curiosity of youth
the joy we believe
we have outgrown.

This is my prayer.

Every day
to see
my old familiar
with the same
I feel amid
all this

To find joy in the blurred backdrop
excitement in the same old scene
wonder going round the block
awe at the almost invisible.

This is my prayer.

To feel
five year old new.

The pure and simple
in being alive.

To live
without ceasing
the innocent amazement
we were never meant
to lose.

This is my prayer.

This meadow.
This morning.
This me.
— Victoria Price