A red-breasted robin enters through an open window, fluttering through the house like a messenger from another world.
Image used for illustration. Picture: iStock
Early morning, summery European sunshine, and I’m awake. It’s good to be reminded we have summer in Ireland, because in mid-winter it’s easy to forget that sometimes I do sleep with just a sheet on here, sometimes I do wear short sleeves.
I tiptoe into the hallway where I hear a strange fluttering: a red-breasted robin is sitting atop a picture frame, looking at me as if I’m the interloper.
Irish folklore would have it that a visiting robin is a guest from beyond the grave, but conversely, it also says that when a robin comes into your house, it signifies the death of a loved one. Me I’m just glad he’s visiting.
“Hello,” I whisper, noting the ajar window on the landing, clearly his entry point. I open the window all the way and go into the bathroom, but when I come out, he’s still there, now perched on the light fitting.
He flits to the bannister and then continues upstairs. I follow him slowly to the attic, where I open a skylight and sit on a step, waiting.
He considers this, considers me, and flies onto the rim.
A few beats later, he’s gone. The encounter makes me immensely happy.
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Book dreams
Such happiness is a welcome feeling right now. Mostly, I’ve been feeling like I’m in a holding pattern, waiting to hear feedback on a book project I’m passionate about, waiting to hear if I have been accepted into university to complete the final year of my BA, but I’m fast losing hope.
I’ve had no meaningful or indeed lucrative work for ages.
I’ve put all my blue robin eggs into these two baskets – a BA or a book contract – but both seem to be falling apart. Uplifted by my bird visitor, I trot downstairs to let the dogs out.
It’s a mild, quiet morning, already shimmering with potential heat, and giant furry bumble bees are buzzing in the lavender. I go to rescue one that’s attracted doggy interest.
After a little investigation, I discovered these sweet, docile creatures are nesting in a hole under my red maple.
Their populations are in decline, and so I’m doubly delighted by this second visit from nature. I feel chosen; I feel like a Disney princess. There is hope. And then the dog chomps down on my rescued bee.
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