One afternoon in February I was miles from the nearest person, sitting in the shade on a downed log doing - well - pretty much nothing except being there, when the spectacular nature of the ordinary slapped me up-side the head once again.
It was a stick. An ordinary, every day, run of the mill, don't give it a first, let alone a second, glance, old, dead, dried up stick laying there almost between my feet.
Don't ask what made me pick it up. I don't really know, beyond that being something I'm inclined to do.
Closer inspection of the underside rewarded me with an extraordinarily complex little world all to itself. The intricately delicate whorls of a grey-green fungus that reminded me of coral swaying in the currents, or ribbon dancers painting impossibly complex and ephemeral patterns in the air. And with the perfect artistic touch of accent, an equally stunning and complex plant/flower/horn structure painted with a shade of gold so warm it looked like I could tip it into my hand and have it flow between my fingers.
|This is a really bad image but unfortunately I arrogantly rushed the macro I took and didn't notice until many miles and a few days later that it was unusable, so this is a cropped blowup of a section of the previous photo.|
The spectacular is around me everyday and I hope I continue to take the time to marvel at it.