The snow blew impossibly in every direction. A white filter obscured the landscape just outside my daughter’s home. A suburb of Boston. Forcefully flakes swirled. The wind howled cold across the swept clean rooftops. Wires danced. Snowblowers roared. A New England blizzard unfolded.
A small tree street side just outside the front window showed bare. Not a leaf. Branches danced in acknowledgement of the all-encompassing storm. A Robin red breast suddenly appeared. An American Robin the harbinger of late winter. I scooped up my 17-month-old granddaughter for her to see this delicate creature who braved the elements. The Robin’s vibrant breast, more orange than red showed brightly against all things white. A quick stay and off it flew. Belle’s eyes sparkled. Was it our discovery or my reaction to it that engaged her? I was unsure. Moments passed and our little visitor returned. My movement swift as I wanted to show her the beauty of nature once again. Her focus certain. Belle was equally delighted by our new friend.
The bird once again lighted on the branch while Belle rested in my arms. The precious life in my supportive limbs was actively observing. Her new and exciting world was just outside the snowy window. The quiet acknowledgement of the wonderment of nature was twofold. No bells and whistles just we two and a Robin…
“We don’t inherit the earth from our ancestors, we borrow it from our children.” Native American proverb
