A perfect gardening day and this plump friendly robin kept hanging around the yard with my dog Lucy and me. I couldn’t help hoping he was one of the robins born last spring that I watched over through storms and rain, hoping they would survive the rustic nest in my rose arbor! I remember that last day when the baby robin left. He was hesitant, unsure if he would survive without the mother who had been providing for him all through the spring. So, he sat on the split rail fence at the edge of the patio where it joined the woods. Sat there most of the afternoon and then as evening began to fall, his courage grew, and he listened to the birdsong echoing among the trees, all the feathered ones going in for the night, and off he flew. I watched him till he disappeared, deep into the woods, uncertain if I would ever see him again. And now, this plumb fellow is back again, sometimes sitting on the sidewalk dipping into puddles, sometimes on the fence where I watched him pondering his future, sometimes in the grass pulling up a fat worm. I wondered if he had a mate and where she was, if perhaps she had built a nest somewhere nearby and was even now sitting on the pretty blue eggs while this one dug for worms to feed her, and pluck twigs and stray wisps of dog hair to warm their nest. I marvel at their industry, always about something, hunting for food, foraging for nest material, happily splashing in the bird bath, occasionally checking the bird feeder, which I only fill during nasty winter storms when they need the extra nourishment. And always, at dusk, a few final songs, maybe only one long note, and then silence as they disappear into the woods until the sun returns. - July 2012