Visitation 4 - Mr Fearless

I am up at Green Gables overlooking Cat Bells and the north end of the lake – I’ve been up here for days on end, clearing a large garden for a friend: pollarding yew trees and removing undergrowth and all through the recent heat wave and into this one’s driving rain and oppressive cloud cover. The rowan berries are coming through, a sure sign summer is already on its way out.

I’m not alone however, despite the back-breaking work. A juvenile Robin has taken to watching my every move and feasting on the grubs and lice I uncover as I work my way through. Over the past seven days he has become accustomed to my presence and is now to be found no more than a few feet from me, impatiently waiting the opportunity when I cease tilling or cutting for a moment so he can flit down and feed; which he will do only inches away if I keep still. The intensity of his gaze gets to me, the intimacy of his presence and the comfort with which we co-habit the same space is magical. And incredibly peaceful.

I’ve christened him ‘Fearless’.

There are remnants of his ‘gape’ left at the very corners of his mouth, and the feathers on his back are still downy and not quite mature, as are some his flight feathers. But what is a joy is seeing his red breast develop as I’ve got to know him. At first, ten days ago, there was the merest signature of one coming through: a tiny tuft of rufous orange at the tips amid the mottled browns of the young plumage. But as the days have passed the distinctive feature has rapidly developed. At the moment he looks a little comical as his breast reflects a kind of tartan effect, the red getting stronger and more present but in clear patches. And in this he is still quiet, still timid in the wider world beyond his small but ever-increasing territory.

A robin, I think then, has to acquire his breast before he can truly say what he is to the world.

I wonder if I have even come close to getting mine yet?

Cumbria 4/8/06