In the Garden with Robin

Working on illustrations for a book of birds to give to my husband, He doesn’t know it yet, but hopefully it will be in his stocking at Christmas. Hopefully. Robins are the cutest of the visitors to our garden , apart from Flossie who is my dog’s girlfriend. They are ignoring one another at the moment, so who knows what goes on in a dog’s life?  Our robin is very brave, loves chattering to me as I wage war on the unwanted growth in my overgrown pretence of a garden. More realistically described , it is a self propagating , self governing wilderness that gets my occasional   slash and burn style of nurture. Harsh but true. I may even get half an hour in said space when I return home today. For now, off to the train station for the weekly trek back to the MIdlands, Trying to take my own advice and enjoy the journey, St Pancras here we come.

The Robin is the one
That interrupts the morn
With hurried, few, express reports
When March is scarcely on.

The robin is the one
That overflows the noon
With her cherubic quantity,
An April but begun.

The robin is the one
That speechless from her nest
Submits that home and certainty
And sanctity are best.                    Emily Dickenson

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