what irks an owl

An owl the size of my fist was sitting in the tree behind the building where I park my car in the mornings. I stood awhile and gazed up at owl. We made eye contact through the branches. Owl scratched owl’s chin. I smiled. Owl was still there in the evening when I returned. 

I wonder: What irks an owl?

Owls present as so much less hurried and anxious than, say, squirrels or boiling water.

Squirrels are classy creatures in their own right, and boiling water is useful, but I take comfort that we share space also with creatures like the tiny owl who saw me yesterday.

Amidst our squirreling from task to task today, our simmering from thought to thought, may we also find moments to sit among the cedar branches, nonplussed by the business of our duties and doings.