Have you ever tried taking a picture of something far away only to find out that your camera automatically focused on a closer object? Apparently my eyes were wired that way this morning. Brian and I are staying at a quaint bed and breakfast that’s situated on a river in Peoria, Illinois. Our bedroom has two large windows to offer a gorgeous view of the water.
But I don’t see the water.
What I do see are about 200 bugs (I’ll call them river bugs) that are going to die any minute now. These are quite large river bugs and they’re pretty much all caught in a spider web death trap outside my window. I’m not going to lie; the scene is pretty upsetting – the struggling, flapping and twisting to get free. I have a feeling that I’m going to remember this sick feeling long after I’ve forgotten the name of this place.
On a happier nature note, I realized something tonight.
After a wonderful day of exploration and quality time with friends, we headed back to the b&b. Brian was driving, which gave me ample time to look out and notice the expansive starry sky. I felt like it was the first time I had appreciated this masterpiece in quite some time. Remember what it was like to star gaze as a child? Whatever marvelous and mysterious feeling it is that you get in your chest is the same feeling I had in mine tonight. It’s interesting to me that we humans can’t quite recreate that light show. And what’s ironic is that when it’s nighttime, my eyes are usually painfully sensitive to lights (traffic lights, brake lights, etc.).
Well, there was nothing painful about this. (…except for the realization that I miss out on it almost every night – which is a good pain, because it’s a gentle reproof that has an easy and winsome remedy.)
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