Well, I'm not going to apologise for all the robin pictures and videos.
For one thing, I can't get so close to any other wild creature. For another, we have a relationship here. Mutual attunement.
The news on Tiny is limited. I have a suspicion she may be nesting two gardens north of mine. But that's just the vaguest of vague suspicions.
Bobbit seems to sing from the gardens south and north of me - as well as from my lilac.
Fortunately, he returns when he sees me. I might not make it without this small feathered thing. Hope IS the thing with feathers.
“Hope” is the thing with feathers -
That perches in the soul -
And sings the tune without the words -
And never stops - at all -
And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -
And sore must be the storm -
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm -
I’ve heard it in the chillest land -
And on the strangest Sea -
Yet - never - in Extremity,
It asked a crumb - of me.
-Emily Dickinson
Wow... that is exactly how I feel about Son of Bob.
So much happening! The singing, the hither and thither. Love the bath scene. Along with everything else about Bobbit, I find myself fascinated by his matchstick legs and his oversized feet which clasp branches so nicely!