I vividly remember staring at the carpet in elementary school.

The colorful stripes that waved back if I stared at it too long.

How my eyes could play tricks and catch that carpet breathing and swirling around if I looked just right.

An act that entertained me while listening to the teacher.

A little activity that seemed unique to me.

A little bit of personal magic.

***

I have certainly spent a lot of my life looking down.

Never out of embarrassment.

A habit created from a rolling life.

Looking for possible danger or obstacles.

Always attempting to path a better route.

Seeing every leaf and hairline crack on the sidewalk.

***

I can recognize most of the ground I have traveled.

The colored geometric square pattern of the hospital I spent countless bored hours tracing.

The pinecone floor of the forest cushioned by a layer of pine needles and twigs.

The soft sand of the beach that I am forced to observe from a careful distance.

Some seen decades ago and others visited yesterday.

All significant and existent.

***

But the sounds of birds draws me up.

Flitting from branch to branch.

Woodpeckers with their cheeky little giggles.

It is in that moment that I remember that more than the ground exists.

That there is significance beyond what I am familiar with.

A reminder to look up once in awhile.