Dead limbs high in a giant Oak near our house serve as an observation tower for some hawks in the area. This morning I noticed the hawk stationed there was smaller than the one I usually see. A young hawk enjoying the morning sunshine. After a while I noticed something else about him which confirmed my thoughts of his youth: his head pivoted with every little bird that flew in his vicinity.
You see I've often watched the big, adult hawk as tiny birds would try and get his attention. They'd dive at him or sit on adjacent limbs and chirp but all to no avail. The hawk never turned his head, never acknowledged them. And a bird just flying by? Didn't even enter his thoughts.
But this smaller, younger hawk? He noticed them all. They all got his attention.
Makes me kinda glad to be more like the mature hawk. To be able to pick and choose what gets my attention, my time, my effort. Youth is delightful as the world spreads out a plethora of attention seeking opportunities. The feeling that everything- EVERYTHING - must be looked at, tried. Fortunately, youth comes with energy to have a go at it all. (this is why they are always tired)
But in our world I don't know that we appreciate growing older. I'm not sure we learn the art of not being distracted, of focusing. We envy the ability to see everything, do everything - so we try to stay young.
Hmmm, I'm trying to picture the mature hawk acting like the younger one and you know what? It's just sad.