More, it is about seeing the world differently with eyes that record the tiny things which other people never see or to which they pay scant or no attention.

We stop from time to time, at the foot of the stairs at the top of the hill, beneath tall trees, on the open path, and we listen carefully to each other.

Now, look around you: only a person with poetry in their soul would photograph a rusted, empty bucket, a loop of yellowed grass stark against snow, a bayonet of wood piercing the ice, last season's grasses still standing on guard, a whirl of white water, a fallen wall ...

"Look!" says the tour guide, "there's a chimney tower, a boardwalk, a lake, a pathway climbing up through the woods, a freshet stream, a covered bridge" ...

We all have this poetry within us:

the secret is how and when to draw it out, how to dress our inner lives in meaningful words ...

... how to find a meaningful path through pedestrians clogging city streets ... we cannot, must not, lose our way in these woods ..

Time is of the essence: we need time to stand still, to observe the world, to turn it into meaningful words, into living memories ...

"A dull life this if, full of care ....

we have no time to stand and stare ..."

W. H. Davies.