Mother’s Day is coming up, and Ben and I have a robin nesting on our deck.
She built her nest of brown daylily leaves from last year’s blooms, and she left some of them streaming down like party decorations. She sits on top of the porch light, just under the eaves. I took the bulbs out of that lamp last year because I like to see the moon and stars, not fluorescent light, when we sit outside.
We can see her white rimmed eyes and yellow beak from the window just to the side of the light. We check on her each morning, as she sits patiently keeping her eggs warm.
I say to Ben, "Look, our robin is still there."
He says, in a whisper, "Wonderful, Mamma."
The deck needs cleaning, and I’d like to be eating dinner out there these last few warm nights, but I want her to have a peaceful time before her life gets filled with crazy worm hunting to feed her brood. So we watch her from inside, or we go out the other door and quietly walk around to look at her from across the deck.
Elliot and Goose seem entranced as well, and sometimes curl up on the windowsill, their fat cat bodies barely balanced on the narrow ledge, eyes raised in prayerful anticipation. Sometimes Elliot will chatter like a wild cat hunting his prey. Silly house cats. They were both strays and haven’t even wanted to go outside since they moved into my house.
The robin sits, wide-eyed, and waits on her bed of dried lily leaves.