In a Robin's Eye

A fine mist filtered down through our shade awnings as I sat in my lawnchair reading my book. I could see the gray particles of rain falling on my arms and on the pages, a cooling haze whose gentleness was offset by the rumbles of thunder in the distance and the shouts and screams of the children as they protested and fought against an invisible enemy. United for once against a common (though imaginary) foe, their cries had a different timbre than the normal bickering whine or arguing crow. This made it easier for me to sit silently by, as I was completely unnecessary in their play.

My son yelled "8.3 earthquake . . .run!" and they thundered past on their scooters, rumbling across the deck and then across the newly mown yard to the sandbox. That move caught my attention, and the awareness of our robin family. The parents flew madly - one from the nest in our window down to the pine tree to observe our chaos - and one from the fencepost to the nest to feed the growing brood. I paused in my reading to watch the little birdie necks and beaks crane toward their mom or dad. Their chirping reached me even through the thunder and the roars of the children. I felt sympathy for the busy parents.

We've had a great deal of fun watching the robin family over the past few weeks. Now that the babies are hatched and eating well, the parents are forever flying into the nest with food. Every night as we go to read bedtime stories in our room, the kids and I stop by the window to see if the mom or dad is still there. The dad (we think) is the bigger bird, whose puffed-up feathers and aggressive stance warn us to stay away. The gleam in his eye gives definition to the word 'baleful.' We are often glad that the flimsy screen protects us from his wrath; I have seen him chase and attack a squirrel all the way around the yard when the squirrel came too close to the nest.

It was a perfect fifteen minutes in a summer's day. Soon after my blissful moments of peace followed a round of fighting and arguments over a bucket of spilled golf balls, which apparently impeded play beyond all remedy. Moments of perfection are few, but I hold them in my memory against all comers. I have high hopes that the robin parents will triumph along with Rob and myself as we celebrate the crazy - rarely lazy - days of summer.