I saw an owl today. It sat on a craggy hillside probably guarding its young ones. A Great Indian Horned Owl, or an Indian Eagle Owl, or call it bubo bubo, if you will. It doesn’t matter to the bird as to how we choose to refer to it.
I was also struck by the thought that while it took effort on my part to spot the bird, the bird must have seen me driving past so many times. And how presumptuous we are to imagine that we are the greatest there ever were!
I imagined the owl sitting there on that rock through the spell of cyclonic weather we’ve had about 10 days ago. And of how it must have protected its chicks against the vagaries of the weather sitting there on that exposed piece of rock. And of how we humans crib and whine about the weather and our living conditions and of how difficult parenting is as a job.
I also know that both the parents actively participate in rearing their young.Which is more than one can say for most human parents!
Owls have been misunderstood across cultures. They are associated with sorcery, with evil, with the “other” world; they’ve been revered, worshipped and kept as pets. Isnt it strange how these birds that seem so enigmatic and awe-inspiring to me, are abhorred and feared by so many others! Isnt it also true of our human relationships? Some people love us, others can’t stand us …and so on.
I found this poem among some old papers of mine and thought it went well with the theme of this blog. it goes thus –
The Wise Owl
The wise old owl
Sat in an oak.
The more he saw,
The less he spoke.
The less he spoke,
The more he heard.
Why can’t we be like
That wise old bird?