I wonder if they are the babies from last year that the mother robin so meticulously watched over. I wonder if they have come back hoping to frolic in the garden again. Alas, the garden is still under snow. I am hoping they know things that I do not about the onset of spring’s long-awaited entry. I am hoping that they are themselves the messengers of spring.
Last year when I discovered that we had baby robins in a nest under the deck I fretted. I was worried that the dogs might disturb their nest or that a wandering feline might lie in wait for one to plop out of the nest. I was ever so grateful when they started to fly about and seemed a bit further removed from potential harm.
They stayed close to home and I enjoyed seeing them out in the yard all summer long. They would sit on the trellis or fence and watch me planting and tending the garden. They always seemed so fascinated with what I was doing – as if I was the novelty in their garden. Perhaps I was.
Eventually the summer turned into fall and then the fall turned into what has become the never-ending winter. The truth is, I had all but forgotten the joy I had derived from the robins calling our yard home…until I saw them again. Their presence now acts to buoy my spirits. I know that soon we will all be out in the garden again – me planting and tending and the robins watching me curiously. I cannot imagine a better way to spend my days.
Day one thousand three hundred and eighty-two of the new forty – obla di obla da