Glenelg is well known for its sunsets. We are fortunate to have an uninterrupted view of this daily event from our flat, and as often as possible I take a few moments to watch the sun dip below the horizon. There have been very few days, in the last year, that I have been disappointed with Mother Nature's delightful show.
Yesterday I decided to go for a different perspective and headed down to the beach. I was driven by a break in unstable weather, and wanted to take a pre-sunset walk along the water. On my return I stopped along the seawall in-front of our flat to watch the last few rays of light disappear behind the surf.
My attention was drawn to the half dozen kayakers surfing the waves--something I had never seen at our beach--and ignored the people around me. However, my attention was caught by the voice of the lady next to me. I assumed that she was talking to a young child because she was describing our surroundings with rich, colorful language. When I turned to look at them I was surprised to see that she was not talking to a child, but rather to another adult. I thought it was a bit strange at first, but upon closer inspection I realized the listener was blind, and her friend was describing the scene before them. I could not help but close my eyes and listen to the woman's voice. Her choice of words, with a focus on detail, created a vivid picture in my mind. Of course, I had had the advantage of seeing the scene she was describing before closing my eyes, however, I am not sure I would have noticed all of the details that she included in her description. For me it was a true lesson on the necessity to not just stop and observe, but to really search for the small details.
In the past year I have seen some amazing sunset moments on the beach. There was the young man who dropped to his knee to propose to his girlfriend. There were the boogie boarders who left their fun in the surf to lay in the sand and watch the changing colors of the sky. There was the couple who framed the sun by creating a heart shape with their connected arms. There were the young women who washed themselves in the sea before kneeling on the beach in prayer. There was the pod of dolphins frolicking in the water. Each of these scenes was touching in its own way, but none were as moving as what I experienced last night.
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Your post gives one pause for thought. How coes one experience nature when blind? How does one view nature when trying to explain it to a blind person? We take sight so for granted. Perhaps we could be sensitized if we were called upon to describe a scene, natural or otherwise to a person who does not 'see' as those of us with eyesight see.
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