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 thro