I feel for these birds. I have a house to live in. They don’t. They’re out in the open air. They get rained on, snowed on, shone on. I’ve watched as they stoically put up with freezing cold and high heat, always providing a barrier between the elements and the eaglets. They spread their wings and their young crowd underneath.
They probably don’t think about how the weather is maybe nicer somewhere else. They don’t wish they lived someplace else.
I think I’d like to be more like an eagle. I don’t mean I’d like to live outdoors, but I’d like to be less bothered by the things I have no control over. If I were more like an eagle I wouldn’t worry about what other people think, whether or not my house will sell, whether or not my art will sell. I would let those things roll with off my back like the rain rolling off the back of this eagle. I wouldn’t let uncontrollable things ruffle me. I would accept them as beyond my control and move on.