Skip to main content

Watching from my belly

Belly view
Swimsuit on, sun pile driving my body with its intense rays…

Lying in the grass, flat on your belly (if your belly is flat; maybe I should say a wee bit bulged) certainly gives you a unique view.  I mean it’s not even close to the same as what you see when you are face-up staring at the clear blue expanse, dusted with cotton clouds and jet streamers crisscrossing in string-art patterns.

While indulging in a massive hit of vitamin D, I studied the activity and scenery.  It was incredibly abuzz.  If you look closely at the photo, you’ll see an industrious honey bee sipping sweet goodness from the white clover that fills our lawn.  It can be considered a plague to turf purists, but bees and little kids who pick the blossoms and suck the nectar would beg to differ. 

Oily ants, which I’m not fond of, roamed through doing whatever it is that they do.  A total sidetrack, but have you ever noticed that ants taste like they smell?  Don’t ask how I know, just trust me, it is not pleasant. 

Getting back to the watching; butterflies would light and flit away, individual blades of grass each had their own fingerprint and I could see just the bottom of Isabella’s soft brown legs, oh yeah and feel her drips of drool.  Other nano-critters inched and eked out their subsistence in the backyard plot of sod.

A simple act of soaking in the sun to coddle my senses and play to my vanity boggled my mind.  I had forgotten to look down at the small creatures residing underfoot.  Existence is alive on countless levels and I got to peer into this not quite subterranean realm while lightly toasting myself.

Watching from my belly…


If you have been mildly amused, challenged or inspired by what you have read, please pass on my blog to a friend, colleague, family member or even random acquaintance


  1. Nice. No, I don't lay on my belly anymore. It's not only not flat but quite round but that's not the part that keeps me from lying flat. :) Great perspective.

    1. It's more interesting being "shaped..." not flat!


Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

the lights just clicked on

The lights just clicked on. The ones we hung outside last Friday when the day was bright and fair. Today it’s cloudy and cold. It’s dark earlier. So, the lights just clicked on.

It’s pretty. If I squint, the white fairy lights look like tiny gleaming stars. Bordering on gazing at an inky sky, dotted and specked with minute bursts of light.

Two Moravian stars with multi-faceted points hang. They sway with the breeze. Moving to the wind’s breathed music. They reflect in the open window; mirror images, star duets.

Santa arrives in a helicopter descent at the Old Mill. He sets up shop, elves and reindeer to join later. High fives, and shy giggles, the kids approach. Innocent, bright eyes wide open and hopeful.

It’s a magical and expectant season. It’s Advent.

Advent – the arrival of the awaited One – is more than my lights clicking on, the Moravian stars dancing and my grandkids’ wonder at the arrival of Santa. I love each of these experiences and the specialness of the memories.

A baby sh…

wild world: facing the wind

The page furled in the wind, several, actually as I struggled to control my notebook. The wind was crisp; it blew hair out of my face. A cerulean sky hung over head; the sun casting low.

I watered my potted plants, perhaps for the last time until spring. Snow’s in the 10 day forecast, which seems odd since only a few days ago it was 70 degrees.

Birds were chirping, squirrels doing their thing. They know the season is changing to the dormant time where food will be scarce and only the flimsy bare branches will shelter.

It’s November. We’re on the cusp of winter. Temperatures will be harsh. My thoughts turn to the outside folks; those who live in tents or boxes, occasionally scoring a room at the local shelter. It’s easier…when the weather is fair, but never easy.

Cat Stevens’ “Wild World” blares rather loudly from my Sonos. Two lines rattle for attention:

a lot of nice things turn bad out there you know I’ve seen a lot of what the world can do

Things are wild out there – the wind messi…

tradition or rhythm and christmas walks

How long does it take to make a tradition? Is there some sort of parameter, or is it something that just comes to be? By definition, a tradition is something passed down from generation to generation, but how are new ones established? I mean, they have to have a beginning.

That little diatribe to say, my cute man and I have a new Christmas morning rhythm, since tradition might be too strong of a word.

After coffee, breakfast and the Christmas story, we donned our hikers and headed out to walk the trail at Shevlin Park. Others had the same idea as we met families large and small; folks out for a run both with and without furry friends in tow. The mood was congenial with Holiday greetings. I made it my mission to say “Merry Christmas” to everyone we met.

The day was stellar, cold, crisp air, ice crystals sparkling in the late morning sunshine.

The beginning of the trail is enclosed in bare-branched trees that only a couple months ago were ensconced in iridescent golden coins that quaked …