The Red Breasted Robin & Christmas Day

London,
evening.

Christmas
morning, and I climbed down the stairs to the kitchen to make a cup of coffee. Soon after, I made another one. But as I was preparing the stove top cafetiere for the second coffee I spotted a robin in my garden, right outside the kitchen window, on the ground. I looked at it, and then I stepped towards the kitchen door, to look at it through the glass of it. It had moved on the other side of the kitchen door, and was now looking back at me, recognising me, as I was recognising it. The moment moved me to tears. It felt wonderful to be seen by England’s most poetic bird on this beloved day. My coffee cup is actually a medium to small white stoneware cup with the words RED BREASTED ROBIN painted along the rim, and a hand painted red breasted robin on each side. It is my favourite physical possession in the world, because it makes me feel like I am sipping the essence of the robin, so to speak, or like the robin sips water from a birdbath, filling me with inspiration. Then the robin flew away, but it usually visits in the mornings, so I will make sure I am up to see it again. I suppose if I had to describe the feelings birds generate in me especially when I see one upclose is religious, overwhelming, a watershed moment, as though a very important saint is winking at me.

 

Merry Christmas, flighty ones!

With love,
Christos Polydorou.

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