A Little Owl. Sitting in a niche of ivy. Roosting in a kind of evergreen eye.

In all that London mess I spy him.
Athene Noctua.
A Little Owl. Sitting in a niche of ivy.
Roosting in a kind of evergreen eye.
Right in front of me - perfectly scaled down.
A murderous, white and brown white-speckled miniture raptor.
10 feet from the raucous main road.
The owl twists his head 180 degrees.
Looks right at me.
Yellow eyed, blinking once.
Shuts his eyes.
I can't mistake the envy I feel.
The simplicity of this life.
I envy him.
I envy the owl his simple savage self.
His absence of self doubt.
He stares straight at me seeing all, but indifferent to it.
He doesn't envy anyone.
He doesn't want anything I've got.