Each day, during my ritualized walk around the block with my "story stick," I stop a while by an open expanse of unused greensward. It belongs to the sewage treatment plant nearby, I think, and every now and again, someone mows it.
There is nothing really to see, but because there is nothing going on, anything can happen.
I have seen butterflies darting and sipping, birds flying to nearby trees to build their nests, an occasional long-necked water bird standing still as a stick among the longer pieces of grass, squirrels making a dash across the open space for the greater safety of the trees on the perimeter, and now and then a great riding mower, turning on a dime, cutting back what seems to have gotten out of hand.
But basically, there is nothing to see, but because nothing is going on, anything can happen.