Perching crow

We mistake our rushing for progress.

There is a crow perched momentarily on a junction box in front of the office building entrance. I noticed him there as I walked to the building. He was carrying a few tiny twigs in between his beak. He was looking around, checking the surrounding. Though the traffic was passing by the junction box quickly, he was not in a rush, he took his own time.

That is the whole point, despite the busy morning traffic, he was not rushing at all, he has own pace for his life. Despite the life is full of danger, survival instinct being ready to activate at any moment, he lives the life as it should be and prepares for anything that might come along the way.

When he finally lifts off, wings beating against the diesel-thick air, it's not because urgency demanded it. The twigs remain secure. His flight path weaves between lampposts and satellite dishes—not fleeing, but charting. Somewhere beyond the car park, beyond the reach of exhaust fumes and human agendas, those gathered sticks will become a haven. No race to finish. No glancing at imaginary clocks. Just the steady work of building a tomorrow, one deliberate twig at a time.

We mistake our rushing for progress. He knows better.

I do not possess the survival skills as he does, but I admire his freedom.