This morning, at waterside, a sparrow flew/ to a water rock and landed, by error, on the back/ of an eider duck; lightly it fluttered off, amused.// The duck, too, was not provoked, but, you might say, was/ laughing./ This afternoon a gull sailing over/ our house was casually scratching/ its stomach of white feathers with one/ pink foot as it flew./ Oh Lord, how shining and festive is your gift to us, if we/ only look, and see.

Mary Oliver

I have been a city dweller most of my adult life. I have spent many years retreating to nature from the density of urban life to look for the shining and festive. Nature is profoundly and uniquely shining and festive. No doubt about it. I see shining and festive in cities, too. It’s definitely different, and requires a certain kind of attention – a slowing down amidst a rhythm that can distract and force life into fast forward. The shining and festive of the city is the sun glistening off the sides of glass skyscrapers. The shining and festive of the city is crowds of people moving like schools of fish. The shining and festive of the city is the harmony and dissonance, the building and tearing down, the old and new that is all around.

I want to suggest that looking and seeing means finding the shining and festive wherever we are. Looking and seeing takes practice. Looking and seeing takes time and requires intention. Looking and seeing takes a generous and curious eye. Looking and seeing brings relationships in to focus and provides clarity. Perhaps our capacity to look and see is the true gift.