One thing that spending time in the garden has opened my ears to is birdsong. I can now distinguish the shrill tweets of a great tit from the sweet melody of a blackbird and ear battering screech of the crows and seagulls. Yes, I'm still at war with the crows (my first post)
And before you know it you're walking along country lanes actively concentrating on the snippets of song all around you (if you find yourself doing this with a pair of binoculars and anorak, you've gone too far, should turn around, go home stand in front of the mirror and take a good look at yourself).
The same happens with plants. A walk outdoors suddenly opens up sights you normally ignored. Those swathes of green, peppered with pinks, whites and purples along roadsides and pathways. Grand trees that you take for granted, harbouring the pigeons that soil your freshly washed car. And somehow manage to land it on the door handle.
You could find yourself having one of those moments where you are in awe of nature, of the variety and ability of nature to remind you just how vast yet subtle a creature it can be, and reduce you to your individual status.
And then you watch Gordon Ramsey in Vietnam, where anything that moves gets eaten, take one look and the blackbird and say "I don't suppose you have 23 mates who'd like to come for dinner, I cook a mean pie?"