a robin in the fig tree

A robin hops on the fig tree. A red dot amongst the changing leaves. A month ago, it would’ve stood out, but October is ending now, and the tree’s palette mirrors the fluttering red creature.

The robin hops in and out. There one moment, gone the next.

I sit down to write, but the bright fluff jumps at the edge of my vision. I sit down to write, but the chirping hypnotizes me until the thought is lost.

I wait and wait, but the song continues. Maybe the robin is more eager in its storytelling.

I do not understand, but I listen anyway. I think it wants me to follow it…

Yes, I think I’m meant to go…

But my wings won’t carry my cluttered mind.

I turn to write, but there’s a round shadow on the paper. And then the pen looks interesting, so I spin it in my hand. And then I look up. And there it is again.

A little robin, narrowing its little head. Are you coming?

I stare, conflicted. But there’s a knock on the door.

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