i'd brought my binoculars to get a closer look at the pair of hawks sitting shoulder to shoulder in the sycamore.
i'd brought a tissue, two in fact, for my nose and the nose of the little one holding my hand.
i'd brought my camera to capture the ice on the stream and the kittens frisking under the forsythia.
i'd brought a magnifying lens to look up-close at the patterns on the underside of the bark.
i'd brought a zoom lens (if i had one) to catch a picture of the bright red cardinals in the bare branches of the trees. are their colors getting deeper as the temperatures get colder or do they just stand out more against the backdrop of winter?
i'd brought a warmer pair of mittens.
Instead, it was just me and Elizabeth. Morning chores. The collecting of wood scraps to stir up the woodstove. A trail of cats in front of us, a line of chickens behind us. And lots of stopping along the way to notice, to look closely, to guess, to admire.
And sometimes, that's perfectly enough.