One of the things I’ve come to appreciate about spending so much time behind the puddle is that I begin to notice what is usual.
Pinecone has always seemed to have ownership of the white pine. It is where I expect to find a little flick of a tail or an acrobatic attempt to steal a bite from the woodpecker’s suet log. I don’t know if Pinecone actually lives there, but in my mind, that tree belongs to Pinecone.
This morning, with a light rain falling, I looked toward the pine and had to do a double take.
There were two squirrels.
I struggled to get a good photo because neither one was interested in sitting still long enough to pose. They darted around the branches, one hanging upside down from the limb while the other explored below. Every time I thought I had them both in view, one disappeared behind the needles.
Maybe Pinecone brought a friend.
Maybe it was family.
Maybe they’ve been there all along, and today was simply the first day I happened to notice.
The truth is, I don’t know.
What I do know is that the puddle continues to remind me that familiarity doesn’t mean there is nothing left to discover. Even in a place I watch every day, there is always the possibility of something unexpected quietly arriving.
Sometimes all it takes is a little rain… and looking toward the same tree you’ve looked at a hundred times before.
One ordinary moment, observed behind the puddle.
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