There’s a bit of wind today and thus the Autumn-covered leaves are spinning about in the air, whirling their way down to the sidewalks and streets.
My two younger cats are enthralled — awed by all the flying, flitting objects outside. There are three big windows in the house and they are bounding from one to the other, batting the air with their paws, lunging at the screens, bobbing their little heads to and fro.
My older cat, Jack, used to do the same thing when he was a little bit of fluff back in the day. Now he is content to sleep through the seasons — occasionally he’ll quietly sit and stare out the window, but he doesn’t see the need to take any action. Besides, if the youngsters are preoccupied with falling leaves, that means they are not pestering him or trying to mooch in on his lap space.
Me, I read or write or go for a walk — and I watch the leaves also. And I wonder what it’s like to be a young cat and have that innocent sense of wonder about simple things.
Mulder and Scully don’t care about or need to know the science behind the swirling leaves — they merely enjoy the magic of what they see.
As much as I like to read and learn, sometimes it seems possible to actually know *too much.* A large dose of mystery is often good for the heart, mind and soul.
Like … when a puppy sees the ocean for the first time — amazed and puzzled at first, but pretty soon wagging his tail as if to say, “Wow…how cool is that!”
The longer I’m on the planet, the less mystery there seems to be. The world of nature has been paved, tamed, trimmed and littered with L-shaped strip malls.
But I ain’t dead yet — sometimes I still feel that sense of “kitten awe” when my heart beats a little faster, my eyes light up and I feel that weird “happy” feeling.
Usually that comes from simple things — watching the cats watch leaves, running into an old friend and catching-up, smelling a hint of nostalgia on an evening breeze.
And of course, there is always the ongoing mystery of wondering if I will ever bound from window to window again, surprised by a feeling of glee.
© November 2011 by Phyllis J. Hanniver