91热爆

Most folks take sight for granted. (apart from blind folks of course...)
And most folks go through their days not really seeing anything.
Oh, you`ll smile at others and talk to them, you`ll watch where you`re going as you`re driving to the shops..presumably...actually come to think of it, there`s a fair few drivers here I have my doubts about...(you know who you are, when you nearly run my walking son`s feet over! *scowl*)..but for the most part they just get through the day on some kinda sight autopilot that allows them to function without too much bumping into things.

Some folks like to look at things though. Really SEE them. Savour them like chocolate dissolving upon a hungry tongue. Because you might not see that particular sight again. And sometimes what you`re looking at is just worth keeping, in your mind and heart, and so you really notice it.

And it isn`t even the grand things of life that only make a mark. Peedie, mundane things can seem so bonny, too.....

I saw my lovely collie Lassie sit out in the front garden and watch the geese and moorhens walk around her with ears pricked and eyes bright, then watched as she decided to play with a flowerpot, nosing it around, `whuffing` at it, then try to bury it in the front lawn (at which point I went out and rescued said flowerpot).
And that was something worth remembering. The shine on her coat, the bum up in the air as her front paws clutched the pot, the inquisitiveness as she watched the birds....don`t dogs have just a childlike lust for life we often lack?

And after a week of gales, hail, sleet and rain I watched the sun rise this morning behind clouds that looked heavy with snow that refuses, stubbornly, to fall. Thick and black they are, but the sunlight gilds them and makes jewelled cushions of them and highlights the small patches of blue around it all and makes the sky look like a bonny, bright Sidhe landscape.
I think in Orkney we can get so used to such big skies, and the beauty of them, maybe there`s a danger of taking them for granted. But I`ll not do that. There are no buildings in the way of my skies, only the sea and the fields kiss the horizon and it all fits together seamlessly like the most stunning quilt of colours you ever saw. I could have gotten up, looked outside and went, "Hell, another dreich day" but instead I stood and gawped like a bairn at the gold around the slate grey and wished I could have worn a gown that colour.....

And then I came back indoors, out of the cold where my breath made pictures in the air, into the warm steamy heat of the livingroom where the battered old Doric pumps out heat like a strong beating heart, with the kettle simmering on top, and the Jul decorations making the room smaller but cosier, with peedie coloured lights shining among greenery and the tinsel and glitter of glass baubles and it took me right back to being a bairn again, remembering how I had my hand knitted, huge stocking to hang at the bottom of my bed...remember the days when beds had knobs on the footboards? Sometimes, as grown ups, we might get a wee bit bored by putting those decorations up year after year, seeing the chore of it, but then you look at them, done and twinkling, and you see the river of memories behind them, right from the magic of that wee bairn that was you, up to your own bairns, trying to make it just as magical for them, wanting to keep the mystery alive for them, wanting them to believe and not grow out of it....
My bairns are long grown now but once those decorations are up, the magic comes back and I look from the glitter inside the house to the skyscape outside and wait for the even bonnier glitter of snow to arrive...living in hope, still, you see...

I never take my sight for granted. I never take the `pictures` of life that parade past us every day for granted. The soft smile of a loved one, or the sad tears in their eyes. The curve of the horizon and the blurring of it into the sky, no boundaries there some days...the steam rising from my hot cup of coffee that promises warmth when I wrap my hands around it and put my feet up and sit by the stove, watching the kettle simmer and hiss and seeing the lights in the green swag above it sparkle...my hound at my feet, ears up wondering if I have anything to feed her, eyes bright with curiosity, tail thumping the rug in happiness.

And on harsh days when the world seems to be intent on beating us down into the mud, the sight of my livingroom, not grand or posh, not huge or modern, but filled with clutter and books, furs and soft light, is good to my sore eyes.
I`ll never take that for granted. :-)