This is what jumped out at me today:
"'You know," Johnny said slowly, 'I never noticed colors and clouds and stuff until you kept reminding me about them. It seems like they were never there before.'"
Colors, clouds, and stuff - they may as well have not been there. That is until the poetic Ponyboy observes and shares with his friend. I had a similar experience the first full year out of college; newly married and newly moved to Tennessee, it seemed I had never before seen the trees or flower blossoms, or heard the songs of birds, or the dancing of streams. I was jobless - and I was reading Dante. I'm not sure which actually opened my eyes to everything around me, but Dante sure did make me slow down and search for meaning.
And it was Frost who opened me further to spring:
"...How Love burns through the Putting in the SeedOn through the watching for that early birthWhen, just as the soil tarnishes with weed,The sturdy seedling with arched body comesShouldering its way and shedding the earth crumbs."*
There's so much we're not noticing - so much we can't possibly see on our own - and it's one of the roles of the poet and the storyteller to point out what must be noticed.