While watching the finches on our feeder I learned something about perspective...

The large bay window in our living room overlooks our front lawn; a large magnolia and maple tree drape the scene and arborvitae and rhododendron  break up the green carpet of the lawn. A thin pole stands outside the window holding a finch feeder. Regularly finches and other small varieties of birds visit, flitting from rest to flight. One of my favorite morning moments is settling in on the living room sofa with a steaming mug of coffee and watching the birds have breakfast. The view is private, simple and I feel an intimacy as I spy on their world, so thinly divided from mine by a pane of glass.

Today I noticed the blinds that hung, turned open, but still present - slicing my line of sight. The glass refracted the beams of light through hazed glass. Really, the lens through which I watch these birds isn't clear at all. I'd never noticed it before.

We look past things. We grow accustomed to the smeared glasses on our face, or the spotted windshield of our car, and the dirty window pane and the blinds. Now that I've noticed. I know and it bothers me. I'm already planning to dust and raise the blinds and clean the glass inside and out in order to see it the birds, the outside better.

Which causes me to wonder...what else in my day-to-day perceptions might have lost some clarity and could use a bit of polish and shine?