England is an island.

And a relatively small one too. We did more traveling on Thursday around the island than most English people ever to. We drove a little over 300 miles and we covered a LOT.

Someone I spoke to on Friday night asked about our holiday week, what we had done, what we had seen. I told him about our prehistoric/medieval marathon tour on Thursday.

He said, “England is small. But here, its all in the details.”

And he’s right.

The beauty of England is not the vastness of the American plain states or the largess of an Alaskan glacier. It is the Gothic detail on Ely Cathedral and the tulips poking through, almost past their prime in all the neighborhood gardens.

The gates to Kings College in Cambridge, the spiral steps up a medieval tower, the eagle flying to the arm of a falconer: details. The glass of cider at the pub, the daffodils on the bank of the Cam, and the hidden bridge in the country park, the herbs for sale at the market: details. The purple-pink seeping through the stained glass this morning, the intense greenness of spring grass and the fields of yellow flowers across the street at the farm.

And most of it is actually being able to see the details. Its about not speeding by too quickly in a car or motor coach and missing it all. Its about not worrying about the kids fighting with each other so that it robs me of the beauty I’m walking by.

Noticing.

I’m working on it.