Looking out the window she noticed an owl in the tree and wondered how far it had come to find its perch. She pondered the saying about wise old owls. The owl didn’t look particularly old or wise, it just looked like an owl. She and the owl had that in common. She didn’t look particularly old or wise either. She just looked like her: nondescript, plain, perfectly forgettable. Every day the same routine woke her up, took her to work, and brought her back to her spot by the window. She had come a great distance to find her perch. Miles of travel over emotional terrain until she had finally come to rest in this comfortable and safe feeling little spot. There was no one to challenge her authority there. In her small corner of the world, she reigned supreme. The owl seemed to be holding court over the other birds flitting about. It settled onto its throne like royalty and demanded respect. Unlike her, its appearance did not seem to matter. She lifted her cup of earl gray to the mighty ruler in respect and returned to living.