Behind a protective curtain of yellow flowers and green foliage, a frog peeks its head out of the water.
Something happens when one stares through binoculars or aims a camera in some seemingly random direction. The curiosity of other people is roused. Time and time again, I train my binoculars to the distance and cause someone else to wonder what I am looking at.
Occasionally, inquiring minds really inquire. “What are you looking for,” a lady asked me as we neared each other on a hiking trail. She eyed the binoculars around my neck and camera in hand. One time a little boy saw me standing along a creek and asked if I had seen any frogs. I pointed some out.
“What are you looking at?” “What do you see?” “Find any birds?” All and more questions have been posed to me. I also get tips. “There was a pileated woodpecker in those woods.” “There is a snapping turtle in the pond.” “Look for the deer. They were there yesterday.”
Not everyone is interested in what I am looking at, but some are. And not everyone asks what I am looking at, but some do. The roles are also reversed. I will wonder what another person is captivated by if their focused squint or concentrating ear is directed high in the trees or across the water. What do they see or hear that no one else seems to notice? After all, this mysterious point of interest is clearly worthy of pause.
An inquisitive nature, whether one is the initiator with the binoculars or the passerby who assumes a brief interest in where those binoculars are aimed, can lead to memorable discoveries.