Invisible

When I was in high school and walking to school, if I wasn't careful, the cat would follow me.

Yes, the cat.

Dickens, our small, skittish, calico, would follow me down the street for nearly a block if I let her.  I couldn't run her off.  I couldn't pick her up and carry her back home.

The only way I could get her to stop was to stand perfectly still.

Cats, actually, have very poor vision, something like my vision without my glasses, but are exceptional at detecting movement, which makes them such great hunters.

So I would stand there, all by myself, in the middle of the sidewalk and watch as Dickens lost me.  She would stop, look around, sit for a minute and then, if I still hadn't moved, she'd turn around and head back for home.

I hated doing it, but it was much too dangerous for her to follow me.

I've learned a lot about being still as I walk around Hope.  In the beginning I equated finding that bird or rabbit or squirrel to hunting.  But now I realize, if I stand still enough, and listen and remain patient, the animals will come to me.

And, it's in that moment of invisibility, of stillness, that I find the most peace and connectedness to the world around me.