She says to me – “detail, detail detail”
For a moment,
I can’t understand what she means.
Does she mean the circular flickering light on the box above me at the bus stop I am standing under protecting myself from silver bullets uncurling my chestnut-hued waves in the midst of a dewy dawn breeze?
Or the fading, carved out burgundy wooden letters that look familiarly out of place, tucked ever-so slightly away on the corner of the prehistoric roof that either has the ghosts of ancient money remnants or street rats scurrying away or both?
Oh, I know!
She must mean the thin piece of peeling bark that reminds me of a nail scratching at a chalkboard, exposing it’s freshly grown, pine scented skin.
Maybe she is talking about the one, singular, pin straight whisker on the gentle kitten’s face that bends just noticeably slightly to a perpendicular angle.
My mind wanders and wanders.
Wondering what she means by detail.
Until I realize,
This is exactly what she wanted of me – to notice the details.