My robin

I did a spot of gardening this week, and my robin was back (see my last post – A robin sang). He sat in the wire fence and watched me dig a large hole to accommodate a camellia that had out-grown its pot. He flitted down to the bucket where I put the excess soil, then he hopped onto my spade, and even when he darted back into the undergrowth I could still hear him singing. I realise that he wasn’t really watching me, but was actually keeping an eye out for any worms and grubs I might unearth; and I have to confess that I did search out a few extra worms for him from the lid of the compost bin.
When I saw him last time I didn’t have my camera handy, but this time I had come prepared. I know he isn’t really my robin, but it feels like he is. Autumn can be a difficult time for me as I go through some painful anniversaries, but every time I see my little robin, and every time I hear his lilting voice, he warms my heart and lifts my spirits.
My robin



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