My husband, Dreamer, sees her first:
Robin
Dear seamstress of April
stockinged in brown,
your bright apron a blur,
are you watching me
watching you?
How your beak darts
and weaves, hemming
the final layer of nest.
Lady Robin bustles about on the bench — four feet from our window. I pull up a chair. How might her story affect mine?
Sovereign Creator of Egg and Wing, attune my senses . . .
Still a rookie contemplative, I study her like a sacred text.
Like me, she briefly alights, only to flit. Seems we’re both distracted by hunger. (She eats roughly 14 feet of earthworms a day!)
When she’s inhabiting her grassy, mud-cup home, sometimes her tail nods like a feathered pendulum.
Loath to startle her, I emulate a statue.
Lord, teach me soulful elasticity.
During the second week, Lady Robin lays one egg per day, mid-morning. Three in all. Secret hemoglobin and bile brew that singular blue.
Perhaps her instinct’s drive resembles my need for a guiding word or phrase. I’ve slipped into lectio tierra, kissing cousin to lectio divina. Attending to an aspect of nature closely, I seek purpose and shape for my day, my actions, and outlook.
Psalm 84:3 comes to me: “Even the sparrow finds a home, and the swallow a nest for herself, where she may lay her young, at your altars, O LORD of hosts.”
Then, a prayer: Please, shelter the homeless. Comfort the besieged in Ukraine. Help my friend, recently widowed. Assist friends adjusting to new and smaller living spaces.
Does her patience flag? How gently she turns the eggs with her bill, ensuring her young will not stick to the shells.
The naked brood patch on her belly calibrates temperature. She alternately presses closer lest the eggs chill or lets them cool, briefly exposed. Ever watchful. Sharing her own heat.
Worry muscles in when the weather worsens. Again, she points the way.
Nightly frost? She hunkers down.
Sideways rain? Still undeterred.
Bucketing hail, the size of peas? She extends each wing, rim to rim, seals the nest with her own flesh.
Sovereign of the Skies, shield this faithful bird, this countryside altar jeweled with hailstones. You see us all, every creature.
Lady Robin shifts to face me. Pale feathered crescents outline her gaze. By now she recognizes me.
“If a robin’s near,” so the saying goes, “it’s a loved one watching over you.”
This May, it almost feels true. It’s the anniversary of my mother’s death. Decades ago, she read me The Secret Garden, with its merry robin coaxing an awkward child toward the hidden key.
Sovereign of Egg and Wing, your grace is the key to everything.
In another week, the eggs will hatch. Lady Robin and her mate will deliver takeout . . . 100-150 times a day. Book-ending each day with their calls — first voice of the dawn chorus and one of the last songs heard at dusk — they will raise their family. And teach them to fly.
Got a bird story to share?
Fun Facts:
A robin can fly up to 35 mph
A group is known as a round of robins. Up to 200,000 robins sometimes roost together.
Because the English first tasted oranges in the 1300s, robins, often called redbreasts, were not described as “orange” until the 1500s when the word “orange” came into use.
Photos of Robin in Tree and Robin on Statue taken by my great friend Larry Manne. Eggs and hail shot, yours truly
“Perhaps her instinct’s drive resembles my need for a guiding word or phrase. I’ve slipped into lectio tierra, kissing cousin to lectio divina. Attending to an aspect of nature closely, I seek purpose and shape for my day, my actions, and outlook.”
This is the first time I’ve heard the term “lectio tierra” which thrilled my heart as I read it. I often feel closer to God and hear from God more personally through time spent observing and meditating on nature – God’s most beautiful temple.
Dear Deanna, I know just what you mean. I was delighted to discover the term a while back, realizing I’d joined a history of countless worshipers in the practice without even knowing it.
And? Two of the eggs have hatched! Dreamer’s smart phone captured a shot of Mama feeding one of them just now. Makes the heart sing to witness ongoing life . . .
Beautiful, Laurie. What a striking picture of motherhood in the robin guarding her young from the storms. Awesome! Sheltered under her wings.
Linda Jo, you zeroed in on the aspect that moves me most — right to the edge of tears. It was the second hail storm I watched her endure, using her soft body as a shield. Not so much as a flick of tail or wing to slough off the ice, even after the hail turned to rain. I wanted to rush outside and create a makeshift roof for her, but of course had to trust to Mercy and nature and her God-given nature. A good nudge for me as I consider those I wish I could protect!
Laurie, beautiful prose as always. Love your bird story in living color. Flitting behind others’ comments, I was drawn differently – to the eggs. So much so that I’ll share what I plan to watch tonight on PBS ( Ch 7) at 7 pm on Nature. The Egg: Life’s Perfect Invention. Probably for edible eggs, but consider the wonder when left to hatch 💛 Happy belated Mother’s Day, you and Lady Robin ~
Dear Nancy, oh, I’m curious about what you learned from the documentary. Such a great title. Hope it was splendid! Belated Mother’s Day greetings to you, my friend!
Each artistically scribed line of your Lectio Tierra caused a round of answering bird song in my spirit. Do I have a bird story? Oh, yes, so many… Last week, I sat in the company of a pair of Harlequin ducks on the creek! For half an hour, I sat perfectly still on a boulder, and took in every nuance of their disparate male and female plumages with my binoculars, as they literally caught “40 winks” on a rock 15-feet away. Each drop of water on their feathers was illuminated into a million prisms. I felt blessed that they decided I was no threat. I sat there, observing, until my bones began to grumble about the hardness of the rock. I rose up v-e-r-y slowly, and ascended up the trail, as they watched warily from their glistening wet rock, but continued in their rest, the creek singing snow-melt lullabies. Later this summer, I may again see the female with her youngsters bobbing nearby. On Mother’s Day, as I sat in my husband’s workshop, waiting to jump in to help, as need be, I made a little sketch of the harlequin pair in ballpoint, with the hope of finding time to paint the exuberant colors and patches in watercolor one day, soon. In the meantime, that sublime little “Divine Appointment” fills me with so much joy and love and awe for our loving Creator, I am verklempt. Your Robin story sings. Thank you for the generosity and blessing of your posts, and for inviting us all to join the round!
Pacia, you usher me creek-side with your vivid, lyrical description. I sense your wonder as I read. What extraordinary moments for you and, I’ll venture, perhaps for the Harlequins, as well. It feels cinematic.
I love thinking of you in the workshop afterward, capturing their likeness in line in your inimitable way. A reverent testament. And Yes, may a pocket of time for color open soon!
Oh, Laurie,
How this post lifted my spirit!
“Sovereign of Egg and Wing, your grace is key to everything.”
YES & Amen!
“A group is known as a round of robins.”
I just LOVE that:)
Gratefully,
Katie
Katie, thank you for that resounding “YES and Amen”! How delightful that the robin story lifted your spirits.
I feel lucky and blessed to slip into my front row seat anytime of the day.
And today, no hail. Glorious sunshine!
Off I go for another peek . . .
Love this momma! Can’t wait to take a peek tomorrow.
Yes, you can sit in the chair and soak in the wonder. Love you!
Wow Laurie. Maybe my favorite post ever. You know how I love birds. This needs to shared. Truly holy and beautiful words full of heart and love.
Gena, dear friend, thank you for reading and leaving a comment while on vacation! I’ve watched how you’ve watched over God’s feathered ones for years. What an example you’ve been for tenderness. So glad the post touched you.
“Are you watching me watching you?”
I often wonder the same.
“How might her story affect mine?”
It certainly did for you to write this blog and share it with us.
“Attune my senses.”
“I study her like a sacred text.”
The older I become, the more I do too.
“Flit.”
“Seems we’re both distracted by hunger.”
Enough said.
“Loath to startle her, I emulate a statue.”
We have a mourning dove nesting on an outdoor metal shelf.
I tried to deter her and him – it’s a team effort.
Nope.
They persisted.
I’ll email you a picture. .
I stand face to face and speak with him/her – they take shifts sitting on the eggs.
A gentle look and voice keeps them still.
A good lesson for me with fellow humans.
“Lord, teach me soulful elasticity.”
Please!
“Perhaps…”
“I seek purpose and shape for my day, my actions, and outlook.”
Yes, me too.
“Psalm 84”
I went and read verses 1 thru 4.
Thank you.
“You see us all, every creature.”
Thank you for the details of the robins care.
Deepens the truth.
“If a robin’s near,” so the saying goes, “it’s a loved one watching over you.”
Your mention of mom reminded me a journal entry from February 2020, when my mom died…
Mom went to heaven last night
Up this am, early.
Cold.
Snowy.
A cardinal is singing.
Todays Word – Adulate.
Heard the cardinal where I heard the word adulate in 2014.
Alone, outside in my yard.
Thank you, mom.
No, you weren’t the cardinal.
But for leading in the way where I believe He’s alive, and in me.
He speaks to me.
In any and every circumstance.
Even uses the birds.
Be.
A cardinal, Rick.
Speak, with grace.
“Your grace is the key to everything.”
Yes, everything.
“First voice of the dawn chorus and one of the last songs heard at dusk…”
May my voice be the same.
Thank you, Laurie.
“He speaks to me. / In any and every circumstance. / Even uses the birds.”
Rick, what a deep pleasure and privilege to read your responses as you interact with the post. It feels a little like praying and keeping watch together though miles apart.
I hadn’t thought to pray my voice, too, be faithful, from dawn to dusk. It will make hearing their calls like invitations from now on. Thank you!
ps The mourning dove is my all-time favorite avian song. Thanks for sending the stunning closeup of your nesters!
I too love watching the birds and listening to their springtime symphonies each morning. A young robin inspired this effort at haiku a couple of years ago: Young Robin (the title). Lights on nearby perch, Questions me with his keen eye: “And what might you be?” Your new brood will be questioning you soon!
Oh I can just imagine that small cocked head, the bright eye. Thanks for sharing the delightful haiku!
I was delighted to learn that over time they learn to recognize people, especially those who feed them and/or work outdoors with a relaxed attitude.
I will look forward to being questioned!
Bird stories abound daily in our neck of the woods as we have three birdfeeders and two for the hummers. We never tire of their antics, the towhees in particular.
*
I was speaking with my Spiritual Director the other day about “seeking the face of God” and how the Holy Spirit reminded me the face of God is in His creation: the birds, the flowers, his people, the Imago Dei.
It’s changed the way I think about meditation and being contemplative, that it’s not a matter of hiding away and being still, but seeing God’s face in things around us. Your lines about slipping “into lectio tierra, kissing cousin to lectio divina. Attending to an aspect of nature closely,” resonated greatly.
Your heavenly parallels are remarkable, friend. Thank you.
Dear Jody, what a delight it must be to sit outside in your yard (or near a window) watching their lives unfold. An earthy yet deeply spiritual pleasure.
Do you name any of them? Favorite robin names I came across while researching include: Bobbin, Scruff, and Robbie.