Red Robin

I took a walk to Spot Pond last week and it was still frozen over. The ice was beautiful to look at, deadly to walk on. I brought my camera with me hoping a photographic opportunity would arise.

A tangle of black tree branches formed a criss-cross pattern against the washed-out gray sky. As I focused my camera on the branches, I saw a speck of color in the middle of the dark design high above the ground. A shock of color in the twisted tree limbs revealed the first robin of the season.

My camera zoomed in on the robin. It was shivering in the cold. Its eyes were dull and lifeless. A chilling wind blew off the water and rocked the branches of the tree. The robin's feet grasped the branch tightly as it bobbed in the breeze. I snapped a quick photo and wondered if I captured the moment. The robin darted away in search of its own first sign of spring.

A few days later, I left my house for an early morning walk. The sun was out but it was still cold. Standing on my straw-colored lawn was a robin, looking curiously at me. It could have been the same one from Spot Pond. This time it brought the sunshine with it. It cocked its head and pecked at the hard dirt. It was not going to find any food here today. Its red breast looked brighter than it did at the pond. A good sign, I thought. It hopped away, hoping the next lawn would yield something nourishing.
The next day I took a walk to the Mobil station to buy a newspaper. The weather was once again unseasonably cold. On the way home, a bird swooped down from the tree behind me. I saw a flash of red and recognized my robin. It flew from tree to tree above my head, continuing its flight in the same direction I was walking in. I found it odd to have this many encounters with the same bird in such a short time.

My street was just up ahead. The robin looked down from the tree on the corner, chirping in agitation. I continued on my way while the bird chirped louder. I sensed it wanted me to follow. I changed my route taking a right turn instead of a left. The bird quieted down and flew on ahead. I followed it down Fairview Street as it flew from tree to tree in the direction of Spot Pond.

I reached a clearing to the pond as the robin hopped from bush to bush, leading me on a mysterious quest. I walked down to the water and journeyed into the thick underbrush, twigs snapping as I tried to follow some sort of path. Another robin joined the one I followed. Together they led me deeper into the woods. Another robin joined the two in front of me – then another and another. Now five or six more flew down the path, all of them chirping in exhilarated song. I should have been afraid, or afraid of getting lost, but I wasn't. The robins’ red markings flashed like scarlet beacons through the gray-brown trees.

I walked through the bushes into a small clearing. The noise was deafening as hundreds of robins converged before me in a sea of crimson. They lined the trees and bushes all around me, surrounding me in song. The flittering flock filled every empty spot on the branches and bushes. In a mass of motion they cocked their heads and bobbed up and down. A sea of black eyes blinked as beaks opened and closed wildly while they screeched.

The robin that led me there flapped above my head just out of reach. It hovered above me as I stood motionless, staring at the congregation of birds in front of me.
Following an invisible command, the birds lifted from their perches in one swift motion. I was engulfed by flapping wings as the flock rushed toward me. I was caught in their feathery vortex, spinning around in a sea of eyes, beaks and wings. I was encased in a red-orange blur as the birds raced forward like one huge living organism. I was whipped around by the wind from a thousand beating wings. The twittering tornado of robins spun around me faster and faster until I could no longer see the woods or water.

I stood trapped in the middle of the whirling birds but there was calm in the eye of the storm. Instead of fear I was filled with joy. Instead of dread I was filled with hope. All at once, the throng of birds lifted to the sky, leaving me alone in the clearing with the settling dust. As the chirping birds faded beyond the gray horizon, I found myself looking forward to the future. Maybe spring is coming this year after all.