The Adventures of Cowboy Hazel

I spent about an hour sitting on a bench and staring out over the East River today. I’ve been spending more and more time outside in various quiet (a relative term, here in Manhattan) places reading or, like today, just collecting my thoughts. Across the river from where I live is Wards Island, a tiny island populated by three giant buildings with gated windows and a little forest surrounding them. I’ve only been to the island once and did not enjoy my time there at all, but it is beautiful to look at from a distance. Today, as I was staring at the island a huge flock of birds caught my attention. Maybe sparrows, maybe finches, I don’t really know, it’s not important. They were small birds and there were what looked like thousands of them and they were flying in such a beautifully synchronized fashion that I couldn’t help but sit in silent fascination. And then I thought, how many times have I seen these same birds before and never noticed them? That thought stayed with me for a few minutes before being replaced by the realization that it didn’t really matter if I saw and appreciated the birds or not. True, I had never really noticed them before, but my noticing of them now didn’t change anything. They continued on with their collective twirls and somersaults as they always have and always will, never aware that they had a spectator.