“Loss is nothing else but change, and change is nature’s delight.”
It’s March, spring is nearly here, and this week, for the first time this year, I opened my doors wide to welcome the sunshine and the fresh air into my home. Spring, for me, has always been a time of rebirth, of fresh starts, of “waking up” in a brand new way, and this year, so far, has felt no different. And so it was, when I opened those doors, that my eager ears immediately picked up on the symphony of the robins…
They’re already mating…I thought with a smile, wondering what the ladies out there were thinking as the male robins pumped up their chests to bellow out their own unique songs as a form of not-so-subtle attraction. Which one would I choose…I wondered…the overly confident manly one, with the gorgeous chest feathers? Or the helpful male, who’d be rather useful in making a nest and raising a family.
I’m not the first to look at a robin and think the thought–“Yay! It’s spring!!” Where I grew up, in Minnesota, the appearance of a robin was a surefire sign that the long cold winter was nearly over. Smiles would break out on faces, sighs would escape lips, and an energy that the winter air had stolen would return to people’s footsteps. Now that I live in the Pacific Northwest, however, the sight of a robin isn’t all that awe-inspiring–I see the beautiful creatures all year-long. This gives me the freedom to notice other qualities and peculiarities about these birds. For instance, I’ve recently come to the conclusion that robins are not that smart. I mean, how many times have I had to jump in front of my window in order to scare a robin away–to prevent him from hurting himself!–when he continues to attack the window, relentlessly, because he’s convinced that his own reflection is another male robin trying to sneak into his territory?
Yet, the truth is, I have a personal connection to the female robin that lives deep in my soul. In fact, I met a robin once who seemed to know my soul. I’m sure she’s left this world by now, but I first met her on April 24, 2012. This was nearly one month after the death of my third child, Boo, who died inside of me when I was a few months pregnant. I’d spent most of my days boarded up in my home since her death, with just my family and nature to keep me “connected” to life, and on that evening, I stepped outside on our top floor deck to gaze down at the gardens below. Our first child who had died, Gabriel, was buried in those gardens, his grave directly below me on the deck, and over his grave was a stone table and a cherub to mark the spot. There, perched on that table, next to the cherub, over the grave…was my robin.
She appeared to be pregnant, large, uncomfortable…ready to lay her eggs. I know that robins only lay one egg per day, usually stopping at a total of four, and I imagined that she was right in the midst of it, waiting for the next morning to get more of the job done. Like a painted picture, she was statue-still, staring out at the brilliant sun as it lowered in the sky, and I’m embarrassed to say that I felt jealous of her…completely envious of her beauty and calm, her ease in doing her job for nature, as I had failed at my job, and felt nothing close to beautiful or calm. Then, as though she felt me, my robin turned her head. She looked right at me, and I swear…our eyes locked.
The next morning, my husband asked me the question I would hear many more times for the next few years…”Are we going to try again?”
The robin’s eyes were in my eyes…her heart was in my heart…her song was in my soul. Me seeing her, her seeing me…I took it as “a sign.”
So I said the words that I continued to say for far too long, “Yes, once more,” while staring outside at the cherub, on the table, over the grave…not yet comprehending that I was misreading all of the signs.
Because nature was trying to tell me that I was now the observer…no longer, the participator.
Thank you for “sharing” and “liking” any blog that moves you. Have a special day…♥
Photos on Visualhunt.com. Photo credit: CaptPiper on Visual Hunt / CC BY-NC. Photo credit: Wild Lens on Visualhunt / CC BY-NC.Photo credit: dawnzy58 on Visualhunt.com / CC BY-NC-ND