So I was walking along the river with a cold wind blowing in my face. A hawk was riding the currents of the sky. Along my river Bald Eagles are common, hawks are more rare. Two black birds circled each other, came together, and bombed the hawk, over and over. Sometimes it all drifted far from me. Sometimes it wandered close. I watched this bird circus the whole way. And while I do not know why it made this come to mind, I thought:
Ninety eight percent of the world is in desperate need of improvement, and two percent is perfect. I should try to split my time equally between them.