Still

It’s rare that I don’t spot at least one hawk on my trips from the city to the country. The sight of one of them perched on a fence or on the uppermost bare branch of a tree warms my heart.

Sometimes their buff and brown feathers are ruffled by a breeze, or they may swivel their heads to get a better look at their surroundings. But for the most part, they are still.

They sit apart from everyone and everything as they keep a silent watch – always alert, always waiting, always patient. In their stillness and with their keen eyesight, the tiniest movement is noticed.

Contrast that with the way we humans race around, always moving and distracted. Stillness and patience are fleeting or even non-existent.

So we don’t notice the flutter of a russet autumn leaf, the swirl of winter’s snow, the ripple of a pond in spring, or the shapes of puffy summer clouds. We don’t see the amazing journey of an ant, the ballet of hummingbird’s flight, and the athletic dash of chipmunk.

In our hurry, we miss so much.

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