Angel is five months old. Last week he learned how to get down stairs - the week before, he figured out how to climb them, but if you can think that far back, getting up stairs is easier than getting down them.
But every day, every single day, he'd make a valiant leap to get on to the sofa, and fail, every day he's leap, often several times, and always fail and fall to the ground.
You could see that as he grew and as his strength and mobility skills improved, he was getting closer but often the gains were small, perhaps imaginary on my part, and it occurred to me to wonder if he knew that he was making progress.
Then, last night, suddenly, with no regard to the hundred or more previous failures, in one confident, exuberant bound, he leapt and attained the previously unattainable, he landed beautifully and confidently, on the sofa cushion.
How often do we give up too soon? How often to we fail to see that with just one or two more attempts and we're, at the previously unattainable destination? How often do we just aim too low?
We might consider too that in nature, all around us, there are lessons to be learned, from the seasons, from skies, rivers and trees, from new life, the powerful outburst of the assertion of joy in the innocence of babies, small animals like kittens and puppies.
But can we see them? Is out attention open to seeing them, is out awareness at a sufficient level where we can see, then absorb these lessons? It's a good question to ask as we move through the day, "Where is my attention?"
Leonardo da Vinci said, "Some can see, some can see when shown, some can't see."