Everything depends on attention.
Perhaps it is someday to hear the music of the spheres that I am always turning my ears to the music of streams. There is indeed a music in streams, but it is not for the hurried. It has to be loitered by and imagined. Or imagined toward, for it is hardly for men at all. Nature has a patient ear. To her the slowest funeral march sounds like a jig. She is satisfied to have the notes drawn out to the lengths of days or weeks or months. Small variations are acceptable to her, modulations as leisurely as the opening of a flower.
The Art of the Commonplace, page 19
Authentic and responsible thought… depends on the clarity and precision that comes from sustained attention to the particular.
Introducing part one of The Art of the Commonplace