Territories
Today, while driving to work, I saw a small bird chasing another along the road verge.
It was a brief, almost comic scene — wings fluttering, sharp calls echoing, one bird fiercely defending a patch of grass no larger than a few square meters.
It’s a familiar sight. We’ve all seen such encounters in gardens, on terraces, balconies, and those little spaces we like to call ours — or at least believe to be under our care. Birds staking claim to air and branches, drawing invisible borders only they recognize.
If one pauses to watch closely, these tiny territorial battles raise a curious question.
While I technically own the garden — having paid for the land, tended the plants, and built the fence that marks its edge — the birds are merely visitors.
And yet, within that same space, they draw their own lines, chase away rivals, and claim rights to crumbs and insects — by virtue of arriving first, or simply by strength and persistence.
It makes me wonder — isn’t it all an illusion for the birds?
And somewhere out there, across that tattered line, if there truly is a Creator watching this grand spectacle we call the universe, I can’t help but wonder what passes through that mind.
When they see us mark territories with deeds, boundaries, and borders; fight, grab, and even destroy in the name of land, faith, or power — claiming what we believe is ours more fiercely than any other species.
Because much like the birds, our ownership exists only within the stories we tell ourselves — stories that shift with time, circumstance, and power.
Perhaps, in the end, we too are merely unaware guests in a garden that was never really ours to begin with.
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