Look! Exclamation of two year olds and middle age whale watchers
commands immediate attention in sand box and off starboard side
offers a guards down gift of sudden sight.
Lookie-here is Old Country, like wrinkled grandpa porch rocking
hound at his feet. Mind my words son, my wise, year-full words. Makes
no difference, young-uns reckless, half-eared things.
Looking is committed motion. Cranks your neck to acute angle, drops
what you’re doing. Like when a toddler palm-holds your face by the cheeks
pulls your chin up, demands eye level “look at me” looking.
As if God had to ignore everything else and concentrate carefully on
the right mix of clay and spit in his hands. No. God’s mountain view
was pregnant with infinity. Visions of good, also for our eyes.
Imagine looking, seeing, like you just found out it’s the bonus question
on the exam. Like myopic tending to what is forming in your sweaty palms
is secondary to seeing what is very good. Like snow days matter.
Behold and see, lift your eyes and see, look and see.
Pay attention. Look long and hard. Imagine.