I was using the gas-powered trimmer late last evening to try and beat back the fescue that is growing so profusely around the stones of the patio area. As the engine whirred and whined and the string shredded stems and blades, I made quite the mess on the rocks. Still, it seemed better than yielding the area to the grass. After a few minutes of work, I caught sight of motion in my peripheral vision and turned for a better look.

A robin had flown in low and landed on the stones less than ten feet away from me. She stood, tilting her head, looking first at me and than at the litter of scattered grass and then back at me. She was gaunt from the cares of parenting, apparently, and perhaps eager for food. Even as I continued to run the trimmer, she showed no signs of apprehension regarding the noise or motion as I swung the head of the trimmer back and forth around the rocks, hopping even closer to me as I continued.

I have no idea if there was some primal urging in the sound of the whirling string striking the rocks or the grass or whether she was simply so hungry that she wasn’t passing up anything that seemed to offer any chance of stirring up a worm or a bug or whatever. I do know that I’ve never had a robin fly up that close to me even when I didn’t have a two-cycle motor revving in my hands. Like others driven by deep and aching hungers, she had decided to brave whatever fury might come as she sought the fulfillment of her needs.

Whether it was by faith or desperation, I cannot say; that pair can often pass for twins. And though I favor faith in most matters, I will say that each can have its reward whenever they lead us to do what is good and loving and needed.

H. Arnett