Every Saturday morning, when the weather is nice, I take a walk around the block.
Of course, living in the heart of Atlanta, my block is a city street that features high-rises, an office complex, and a hotel. But it leads to a massive park, and it is a great gateway to a number of enjoyable routes.
I have walked down that street numerous times … and then, on a recent Saturday morning, I saw it differently.
Before that day, I barely acknowledged the yards and grass in front of the buildings; I noticed the green swaths in front of me, naturally, but I never gave them a second thought. I simply kept listening to whatever was playing in my earbuds, enjoying the wide view of the street, and moving along.
But on this day, I decided I would pay attention. I would look around for details, wherever I could find them, that I would not otherwise notice.
And when I looked at the yards, I saw squirrels.
Lots of them.
Chowing down on grass blades and acorns.
The following Saturday, I looked again — and, once more, I saw the squirrels.
Now I see them whenever I walk by. And I always think to myself, “How did I never notice them before?” These are living creatures, existing en masse right in front of me, yet they never registered in my mind or my eyes.
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