Tiny Treasures

Tiny flowers and grass under my feet, plus the treasure of a yellow bird. The flower will become a blackberry if there’s enough water. The grass is unknown but ubiquitous, and I think the bird a gold finch.

When I walk in the woods, I have begun looking at my feet. It started because West Virginia is very rocky and you never know when you’ll be tipped over by a hidden bump in the grass. And although I still love looking out over the trees and mountains, I am finding the there are terrific things to see if I focus in.

You have to understand that as a ballet dancer I was trained never to look at my feet. You show your face to the audience, not the part in your hair. This habit had funny consequences on my first trip to Europe. Many of the streets were cobblestones. I didn’t want to look at them when there was so much to see – church towers, castles, history rising up from the ground. With pleasure I looked up, as I had been trained.

My sister, who often walked with me, still tells about how she would be talking to me and suddenly I would disappear. “One minute you were beside me, the next gone. I’d look back and there you were, sprawled on the street.” She refused to walk European style, arms linked, for fear I’d take her down with me.

So much for the grace of a dancer.


  1. mccardey says:

    Terri – your blog is gorgeous and this little post is one of my faves 🙂 Oh, the perils of being a dancer!

  2. My sister told me once that she admired the fact that I don’t look at my feet when walking around. She said that looks confident. I’ve landed on my butt more times than she has though! Pretty, pretty photos 🙂

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