The Stoic Bird Vs. The Zealous Crows
A stoic bird graced the street lamp outside my work recently. He came swooping in with crows bickering and bridling behind him. After he landed, the crows still darted and dashed around the intruder.
I am not sure if the stoic bird was a falcon or a hawk, but he was definitely a bird of prey. The crows prayed for him to leave, more than that they insisted he leave. They didn't trust his shifty eyes or his loner mentality. The crows have things to protect. They have nests with eggs or hungry children. They have garbage cans full of delicious treasures to scavenge. They have perching spots that they look forward to sitting upon bothered by other birds.
The bird of prey knows his own strength though. He knows he is mighty. Five crows, a dozen crows, fifty-seven flying, flapping, attacking crows can't diminish and cannot compete with his strength. His livelihood is preying on the weak. His greatest source of success is his own strength. He can't ever let himself question this about himself.
In the end, the stoic bird did fly away, not out of fear but out of irritation. The cawing, black feathered creatures created a racket he need not endure. He didn't desire the crows eggs, or food or approval. He just needed a quiet place to take in the blue sky. But the sky is grand and expansive and he could find this in some other corner.
I am not sure if the stoic bird was a falcon or a hawk, but he was definitely a bird of prey. The crows prayed for him to leave, more than that they insisted he leave. They didn't trust his shifty eyes or his loner mentality. The crows have things to protect. They have nests with eggs or hungry children. They have garbage cans full of delicious treasures to scavenge. They have perching spots that they look forward to sitting upon bothered by other birds.
The bird of prey knows his own strength though. He knows he is mighty. Five crows, a dozen crows, fifty-seven flying, flapping, attacking crows can't diminish and cannot compete with his strength. His livelihood is preying on the weak. His greatest source of success is his own strength. He can't ever let himself question this about himself.
In the end, the stoic bird did fly away, not out of fear but out of irritation. The cawing, black feathered creatures created a racket he need not endure. He didn't desire the crows eggs, or food or approval. He just needed a quiet place to take in the blue sky. But the sky is grand and expansive and he could find this in some other corner.