Noticing

Only now did Xander finally really notice the world around him, as if for the first time. Cheek to the ground, he saw the ants lifting grains of dirt—a spot of bird poop on the black tar—the red-speckled leaves gathering against his cheek—the fall wind carrying some sort of smoky, woodsy odor. And he felt his body for the first time—the dull, growing sting of the bullet wound in his stomach, the warm flow of blood surging out of him with each precious heartbeat.

A shame that it took him this long to notice everything, but better late than never.