Great Flocks of Robins

If this day had entered a beauty contest, she would not have won any of the competitions; not the evening gown, swimsuit or talent phases. At best she might have managed a consolation prize, just for being a spring day and not the winter version. It was not a pretty day!

It had rained off and on all day, the sun was AWOL, and the temperature hovered in the mid 40’s. Roiling banks of low hanging graphite colored clouds appeared almost as solid as the asphalt beneath my feet. There was no doubt this was a spring day though, the calendar proclaimed it and signs of its arrival were everywhere.

When Mimsy and I left the house for our late afternoon stroll, I took in a deep breath of damp air. Ahh, the bouquet of spring; the rich fertile scent of moist earth, poised to bring forth new growth, faint odors of last seasons fallen leaves that had escaped the clutching fingers of the rake, and the fragrance of new grass. If I detected this potpourri of spring scents, I could only imagine what Mimsy with her heightened olfactory nerves was enjoying.

There were no less than 4 or 5 robins in the front yard, busily disturbing the clumps of grass and weeds in search of insects and worms. At some prescribed day in early winter, all robins must receive an eviction notice, demanding an immediate relocation. Where do they go? I have never seen great flocks of robins flying south or returning north. A quick internet search would provide the answer, but I don’t mind a little mystery here and there. I am content to sit back and enjoy the miracle.

Once again, my weeds have successfully survived the winter. God must have a deep and abiding love for weeds and mosquitoes. He gave them the gift of survival, the ability to pop back every spring regardless of how frigid the temperatures drop during the previous season.

“You wouldn’t last two days,” I tell Mimsy, “Does that mean God loves mosquitos and weeds more than you?”

She looks up, chuffs, and continues walking.

That Mimsy does not posses the independent survival attributes of the weeds and mosquitoes, does not concern her. She is secure in the knowledge that she has people who love her. She knows her needs will be met, that she will be taken care of, no matter how cold the winters or how long they last. It’s a level of trust I’m still working on.

As we turn to go back home, I smash the first mosquito of the year against the back of my hand.

Poppy

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