Owls don’t build nests; they repurpose existing ones and they often return to the same one time and again. There is an old evergreen in our front yard whose top was lost, where now there is a crevice that has gifted life to five baby owls over our time living here. We watch the owl pair every winter season dive in and out, delivering food, disappearing to warm the eggs, and stay vigilant on nearby branches to protect their family. Every spring, we watch the baby owls emerge, first peeking their heads to survey the new world after seeing only a sky and treetops, then emerging to learn how their feet work, and finally to expand their wings, shifting from flailing to flying, until they depart. It’s beautiful and we cherish these moments, so much so that I name each baby and G is building a sign to leave on the tree with the names of each newborn.
The owls are currently in the nesting phase and while we sat outside, wondering what they were up to, a pair of Stellar’s jays were squawking aggressively at the topless tree. Above, below, to the side, and everywhere in between, they were taunting the owl sitting on the eggs in an attempt to agitate it enough to leave so that they could feast on the abandoned goods. In the past, to our best guess, this has sadly worked. Today, it fortunately did not.
It made me think of the resolve of the owls. Their patience, even in the face of extreme and unrelenting irritation, they sit, protecting their lineage. I can only imagine that this is not only will power, but also the clarity to understand your purpose and patiently weather the storm of things out of your control. It was my reminder that we have the ability to embrace internal zen in the face of outside forces if we allow ourselves to feel, pause before reaction, and look inward for the answers.
G named this owl wisdom and I thank him for the title.
