[ I wrote this little piece last year and was reminded of it today as I watched the same scene unfold. I have deliberately not added photos as I want you to let your own impressions of the scene unfold]

THAT ROBIN

They'll have all the berries gone before I get a chance to take my photo. For the blackbirds these hawthorn bushes that I look at every day represent survival, but for me they represent a great photo opportunity. For the last few weeks I have been staking out the berry laden branches waiting for a robin to land in just the right spot so that I can capture the perfect Christmas photo. I'm not sure I'm glad I had this idea however. Am I being mindful, in the moment, as I watch the robin bounce around the yard? Or am I locked in a silent tension as I resist the urge to shout 'just sit in the bush!' at that robin?

As I sit here a male chaffinch lands amongst the scarlet bounty. He is beautiful with his little streak of white on his wings, but I think people would be confused if I sent them a card featuring a Christmas chaffinch. He does have a sort of rusty pinkish chest but he is no robin.

He hops down into the yard and joins his fellow male and female chaffinches to scour the ground for seeds which have fallen from Hazel and Dawn's hay. I wonder do they care that I think it's bizarre that they also search through giant horse poos for undigested linseed fragments?

The robin lands on the galvanized farm gate directly underneath the hawthorn. He sings for a bit. Over the last few years I've noticed that his song is distinctively gentler from August to about February. If I had lived a few thousand years ago I wouldn't have missed my calendar. Each August I'd have known that the autumn was thinking about setting in. The same change would be sensed each year by my ears, my body and my soul. But would I have enjoyed the peaceful lilting notes then the way I do now? The 21st century me knows the winter will be full of warm soups, fires and thick coats. The autumnal sound is comforting now but if I'd have detected that change back when there was no guarantee of food every day and my shelter had leaks and gaps for the wind to go through rather than around would it have held a different set of signals for my body and soul? Would it have triggered the fear of hardship? Or would it instead have functioned as a welcome signal to slow down, conserve energy, block up that gap in the wall and make sure not to be on my own when the darkest nights came in? Perhaps the gentler song of the robin would trigger both in Bronze Age me. Fear and peace dancing together in the same heart.

The robin has joined the poo brigade now and is bouncing from one half pulled apart pile to the next. He has a quick look in case any insects have ventured into the manure since it's recent deposit. Nothing. He moves on.

A blue tit bangs on the bark of the hawthorn, hoping that some insects emerge from underneath it. I can't figure out where she thinks they're hiding. Cracks and holes that are too small for me to see. I'd have called them yellow tits if I had been on the bird naming panel back in the day. It's the yellow that jumps out to me as I watch her hop around the angular mass of thin branches, thorns and berries.

The robin is nowhere to be seen, but a tiny wren sings her impossibly loud song from one of the lower branches. I haven't noticed if the wren's song changes subtly over the year. Does it need to? We've all received the memo from the robin. Perhaps she is working on something else and filling in some other part of the ever-changing Earth's picture. Something that might not be important to me but is to all the wrens. She hops across the gateway and onto the wall where she seems to roll along the top rather than walk.

The blackbirds are back in the hawthorn now, eating my berries. If I had had the camera on they would have made a decent photo. Blackbirds can be Christmassy. Perhaps if it snows before the berries are finished they would be a good contender for the card collection.

The robin finally lands smack bang in the middle of the berries, right out in full view, red breast pointing straight at me. I don't take the photo. The battery is flat, of course. I could swear that robin chuckled as he dropped down to pick off a hapless worm. I sigh, look him in the eye and ask "same time tomorrow?"