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For the passionate observer, it becomes an immense source of enjoyment to establish his dwelling in the throng, in the ebb and flow, the bustle, the fleeting and the infinite. To be away from home and yet to feel at home anywhere; to see the world, to be at the very center of the world, and yet to be unseen of the world, such are some of the minor pleasures of those independent, intense and impartial spirits, who do not lend themselves easily to linguistic definitions. The observer is a prince enjoying his incognito wherever he goes.   – Charles Baudelaire


While hiking earlier this week, the boy asked if we could come back to the woods so that he could draw tiny things. Today, we did.


Watching him work got me to thinking about how so much of our time, every day, is spent looking. Seeing small. And big. And documenting what we find in all kinds of ways.


It’s how Z satisfies his thirst to understand the things that rock his world, and how he discovers those things in the very first place.

Hell, even when faced with the drips and drabs that seem unworthy of a second glance, taking the time to actually see them creates meaning, pattern, context, and wonder.






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