Look: For the Love of Small Things

Virginia Freyermuth

When the wide world swirling around me becomes too much, I pause for a moment and search out small things.

It’s Family Day at the elementary school. I follow our little second-grade granddaughter out onto the playground where boisterous children are running around, climbing on monkey bars and playing ball. She runs past them all to the far edge of the playground where there is a tall, thick green hedge. She flops down on her stomach and begins looking closely at the dirt just beyond her nose.

I weave my way across the school yard and look down at this curious sight. “What are you doing?” I ask.
“Look! Do you see it?” she replies excitedly. I bend down low but see nothing more than dirt and a few small stones beyond the edge of the grass.
”See what?” I ask.
“Look closer! I always come over here to watch them,” she exclaims again. I bend down lower.
“Watch what?” I ask, studying the dark brown dirt.
“Roly polys,” she says. “I love roly polys. They are so cute.” She careful points to a barely visible tiny creature moving slowly across the dirt. “They help the environment,” she says. “They compost old leaves and help the soil. When they get afraid, they roll into a ball. Watch. I won’t hurt it.” She takes a twig and places it in the path of the roly poly which rolls itself into a tight little ball.
“It’s so cute. It’s a crustacean,” she explains. “It’s not an insect.”

I look behind me at all the activity of kids at play. Meanwhile, there is a tiny, unnoticed universe in the dirt on the edge of so much running and shouting. A tiny creature going about its daily work, helping the earth, turning dead leaves into soil. It’s a small thing, seemingly inconsequential to the life of a 7 year-old. And yet, it is a gateway to the notion of wonder, to the inexpressible connection to our mysterious and magical world, to the tiny, consistent acts that let the world continue to turn. Are small things really small things? My granddaughter invited a pause amidst the hubbub by simply saying, “Look.”

Years ago, I followed a young mother walking hand in hand with her young son as they headed out of the library. A big picture book was tucked proudly under his arm against his bulky little winter jacket. I followed them out the door and down the brick walkway towards the parking lot. It was dusk on this cloudy, cold and blustery winter evening, and people were hurrying home to their dinners and nightly routines, heads turned down against the cold. As I walked quickly towards the steps at the end of the walk, lost in my own thoughts, eager for the heat of the car, I nearly bumped into the mother when she stopped abruptly in front of me and excitedly turned to her son and said, “Look!”
“What?” asked the little boy. The boy and I both paused to follow her finger pointing toward the horizon.
“Do you see the sky over there? Look at how red it is!” she exclaimed with exuberance. “Why do you think the sky is so red?”
“I don’t know, Mommy,” answered the boy. “The sun?”
“No, the sun has set. It’s from the lights of all the stores downtown,” she said. “The bright lights make the dark sky glow red. Isn’t it pretty?”
“It’s very pretty, Mommy,” he replied.
Then they stood a few seconds longer admiring the glow before heading towards their car.

I continued to look at the sky as I walked across the lot, thinking about the small pause, the memorable moment this mother had just created for her son, and also for me. Free of charge, evening beauty quietly waiting to be beheld.

Little 3-pound Norbert walks along the sidewalk beside me on his leash, sniffing here and there. He pauses and watches intently. “Look,” Julie says. “Norbert spotted a snail.” There it is, almost undetectable. We enjoy the moment of curiosity, of another world awaiting discovery. Or perhaps it is not awaiting our eyes at all. It simply is itself. Perhaps it is we who need to seek out the silent invitations.

A small pause can nourish the soul when it yearns to feel the preciousness of life. It is not hard to do; it takes very little time, but you must remember the word, “Look.”

Invitation to Create: Seek out a small unnoticed thing. Study it for a bit. Write about it. What does it suggest to you? Study it closely and draw it. What surprises you?