coexistence

A robin has built a nest and laid three eggs in it, in the grapevines just outside my front door. I can see her through my window, sitting there as I work. She adjusts herself north, south, east, west--quarter turns, like kneading dough--for something different to stare at, I expect, or to incubate her eggs more evenly.I imagine it's a pretty boring job. Twelve to fourteen days until her eggs hatch, the internet informs us, another nine to sixteen until the fledglings leave the nest.

Mama's at the top of the trellis. 

She stands up, preens, adjusts inside the nest--eggs, bedding?--wiggles back and forth, settles back in, tail bent up slightly so she fits down inside the nest-bowl. She's been sitting there all afternoon hardly moving. Now she's restless, twitchy.

It's mostly a nice spot for a nest, I think, very green, out of reach of the cat pacing down below. And then there are those annoying people who keep turning on lights, peering at her through the window. Also, the cat pacing down below, but I don't think he actually sees her. We try not to use the front door, tiptoe around, open and close windows quietly. She flies away when I play the piano--not sure if that's a comment on my Chopin prelude, or if, to a bird, it sounds like a musical threat. Maybe she just got tired of sitting.

I'm not playing now; I'm typing away behind a closed window in my air-conditioned house. She's very restless. It's hot today, the hottest part of the day. She flies off for a snack, a wing-stretch, a change of scene. 

Which reminds me, I'm hungry and could use a stretch myself.I'm just about to get up when she flies back, settling in, facing north, in spite of cats patrolling and people peering and loud piano playing every evening. And sometimes Jeopardy and Alex Trebec. It's her spot and she's going to do her job. She's already turned a quarter turn, due east, like dough...