It was a handsome bird. A robin. All red breast and puffed up feathers. He looked as if he owned the place. Haughty. Knowing. Wise? They're aggressive little creatures, don’t they say? This one just seemed serene. His head cocked from side to side when he looked at her.
She began to notice him every day. He was always on the fence in the morning when she had breakfast and on the old red brick wall when she had supper in the evening. He must have been following the sun.
The days began to get longer and warmer. She started to work regularly in the garden. There were new plants to put out, beds to be dug over and weeds to be extracted. She was glad of an excuse to be out in the sunshine.
He sat on the fence and watched her.
One day as she turned over the soil a particularly large worm appeared. He swooped down, picked it up and returned to his perch. She remembered her father and another robin.
"He's only watching us like this because he's waiting for us to find a worm," her father had said.
One day he’d even perched on the handle of the garden fork when her father pushed it into the soil before he took a rest.
"Would you like me to find you some more?" she asked her robin. "Here you go. Here you go."
She turned over the soil. He pecked at the worms that began to arrive.
Her son had given her a bird feeder. She studied the Internet and bought a balanced selection of food. There would be something for everyone. The robin watched her from the wall as she filled the feeder up.
"I think these are the ones you like," she said as she put some dark seeds into one of the containers.
As soon as she was back in the house he swooped down. Yes it was definitely the black seeds he liked.
"Don't eat them all at once," she whispered.
She topped up the hanging containers every few days. Now he was bolder. Each time he flew over to her and perched on the water tray as she worked.
"You're keen," she said. "You'll be eating out of my hand next."
He cocked his head from side to side again. Was this his way of agreeing with her?
She sprinkled some of the seed on to the palm of her hand and held it out to him. He looked her straight in the eye. He moved his head again and then pecked at a couple of seeds in her hand.
"Go on then. You know me. What are you scared of?" Yes he did know her. And no of course he wasn't scared of her.
He pecked gently at a few more seeds and then began to feed greedily.
Now they had a new routine. He would watch patiently each time she filled the feeder and then flutter his wings excitedly as she poured some of his favourite seeds into her hand. He now received most of his food directly from her. This seemed right and somehow familiar.
And so the days went on. He was there for most of the daylight hours. He watched her when she worked on the garden, occasionally coming down off the fence or the wall to tackle a promising worm. Whenever she filled the bird-feeder he was there, ready to eat from her hand.
There was always this question in his eyes. Something suggested meaningfulness as he moved his head from side to side. She needed to know his secret but he was incapable of telling it to her. She must find it out herself.
"What is it then?" she whispered as he fed from her hand. "What is it you're trying to tell me?"
He even let her stroke his head.
She spoke to her friend on the phone about him. "He's such a little friend. Really tame. And those eyes are just so wise."
"Well you know what they say, don't you? Robins carry the souls of those we've lost. That's why they like to be close to humans."
They did? She looked it up on the Internet. There were lots of examples.
"So who are you then?" she said to him when he came for his daily treats. "Little Geoff? Ada? Bill?"
He stopped feeding and stared at her. She recognised a look in his eyes. "Oh, well then. So that's it."
He chirped and carried on feeding.
About the author
Gill James is published by The Red Telephone, Butterfly and Chapeltown.
She edits CafeLit and writes for the online community news magazine: Talking About My Generation.
She teaches Creative Writing and has an MA in Writing for Children and PhD in Creative and Critical Writing.
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