Black's Birds

The other day I sat on the back deck and watched half a dozen crows torment a raccoon. They circled just a few feet above the critter, cawing and nagging. The coon just sat there, unperturbed, smoothing its whiskers, and then looked up at me as if to say, "I hear them, but all I hear is blah blah blah. Yeah, yeah, yeah... whatever." Then it slowly shambled back into the blackberry bushes.

I haven't been able to get that little tableau out of my head.

How many times have I allowed the nagging crows in my life to distract me and keep me from doing what I need to do, going where I need to go? How many times have I heard the clamoring palaver in my head, and end up giving my attention to that don't require my attention? Trillions, I dare say. I'm easily distracted by unnecessary things.

I want to be more like Mr. Raccoon. I want to stop and enjoy the sunshine of the day, maybe preen a little at the glory of being alive, and then be on my way to doing what I really need to be doing, to what I'm meant to be doing.

The crows are going to be crows. They're always going to fill the air with their raucous prattle. I can't stop that. I can't change the nature of the crows. But, you know what? In the tradition of my little raccoon friend, the crows can just go pound sand.