A Robin's Lesson

A few days ago, a robin was singing loudly on the roof. The building is L-shaped, so I could see him from my top floor apartment. I had the front door open to let the breeze in, heard him, and turned.

There he sang, his red breast sunlit against the shade trees behind him. I could see his chest working as he sang. His head pivoted in quick, jerky movements between songs, but never while he sang his three notes, descending in pitch and echoing around the space formed by the balconey and the roof overhang.

For most of his calls, there was an answering song in the distance. What was he saying? "Are you there?" "Am I alone?" Or, was his intent lascivious, "Hey, Baby, let's nest."

In all my decades and all the many, many robins I've seen, I've never associated a particular song with one before. Why? Am I unobservant? Probably. Maybe, also, it's that I see them in suburbia, where they move along quickly to avoid pets. Birds are usually obscured in the trees a lot, too, so it's hard to associate one song with one particular bird.

His song was good company. I wish I could understand his language.

After hearing that robin, I wonder what else has always been going on around me that I don't notice?