The stagnant air is fog-filled, as it has been for weeks. I’m putting out food for the birds when I hear it. A secretive burble of notes, a warm-up routine. It takes a while to find it but then I see a dead-leaf-orange amongst the holly leaves. Its eyes are hidden but I feel it is looking at me and that song is a shared moment.
As soon as I return indoors a robin is perched in the cherry tree. Is it the same one? I think it is. It sings out its morning song to all the neighbourhood.
Mudwriter 