A jumble of thoughts flew through my head one crisp morning. The end of the semester was coming and the nip of winter was in the air. The brick and mortar building I rounded had been up for more than a half-century—a New Deal project.
A crow sounded its obnoxious cackle. I looked above the old church toward the source of the ruckus. The corvid harassed another bird, attempting to drive it as far away as possible. Normally the sparrows do this to the crows. Odd. I examined the other bird more closely. A white underbelly. And a flick of its tail shone crimson-brown in the sunlight.
A red-tailed hawk.
The hawk wasn’t really concerned with the matters at hand. It would flap its wings when the crow came close. As soon as the black bird swooped away, the hawk once again locked its wings to soar and meandered along on its way. No hurry needed or intended.
A hawk by definition is a bird of prey. The crow, however, is a scavenger by nature. The raptor could have turned and made lunch out of the annoying crow if it had wanted. Instead, it ignored the crow as a trifling thing—only flapping its wings enough to stay out of trouble.
What ruffles your feathers? Do you let the opinions of other dictate what and how you are to write? Or do you hear them, but ignore what you don’t need?
Soar high with the eagles!