Robin Antics

Sitting for a while in the garden this evening… it’s cold so I huddle beneath my knitted blanket while my nose and cheeks go numb.

A robin and his mate have set up home in our garden shed. A beautiful nest built with twigs and pieces of dead leaf sits high up on the edge of a shelf of plant food and empty jars. The female keeps her distance but the male is very friendly and inquisitive. I watch as the robin flits from hedge to fence, to swing, to tree, stopping from time to time to pull a worm – at least as long as he- from the newly turned soil. He watches me, I watch him. He shows off a little – how he can hover as if in slow motion for a few seconds in mid air. He gets brave from time to time, edging to within a metre of me, as I don’t dare to move and barely breathe. He perches on the washing line and the apple and cherry trees. The breeze ruffles his soft brown under-feathers and he has a little feather come loose above his beak so it sticks up giving him a rather comical appearance.

It is becoming a daily occurrence out here – this robin and human gentle interaction. The day has been fraught with too much thinking, too much worrying. It is soothing to dwell in the actualities of the garden.

I can see the setting sun through the branches of the hedge, a rich golden glow on the horizon. The sky is clear and pale blue. The houses, land and the trees grow darker and darker until they are all but black silhouettes. The robin is waiting, not so patiently, for me to go inside so he can cosy up with his female friend in the nest. I won’t keep him waiting any longer.

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