The day was grey. The robin was fat.
I’d felt a sludge descend and decided now was the moment - utterly frazzled, there was no time left to give anything, and so it was definitely the right moment to give this time.
I unpacked the cage and assembled it in the garden, ground spikes, heavy stone on top. Inside went a coconut shell filled with fat suet and a little tray of seeds.
And the robins came. Many. Little sprightly dancing ones. And a big, fat, tennis ball shaped one. He sat outside the cage and I thought to myself “Och sorry pal, you’re not getting in with that waistline”. (The cage is to provide a sanctuary from the squirrel who steals everything and has me acting like Chevy Chase in the National Lampoons films.)
Next thing I knew, Mr Tennis Ball had defied the bars and was inside the cage, revelling in his luxurious pad.
He ate and ate and ate and ate. He’s been every day filling his cheeks, numerous visits. The squirrel hates me more than ever but he has plenty apple and is still trashing my bulb pots - he’s fine.
And the chubby robin is my delight. He holds my heart. As my granny would say “He’s my secret passion”. My light.