It occurs to me that much of what I observe, I have recorded already. Each year I look for the right words to describe the colors of a Great Plains’ sunrise, not just the color, but also the way color takes the sky. And each year I marvel at the the tone and character of bird songs. The meadowlark melody lines alone could fill pages. Antelope sightings produce a lexicon of descriptors. What is the point of these efforts, of these repetitions? I know the meditative quality of observation. The calm and total engagement it produces in me. But is there something more? Just before I sat down to write today, five antelope stepped up to the fence across the road one after another. They’ve looked so majestic in the distance with their white/tan patterning and proud-pronged horns, but up close I could see the wildness in their hair. Is my descriptive habit part of developing keener observation?