Robin and Tree reside outside my window and in my poems.  They are a part of my heart that inspires, and blesses.  I write poems using them in allegory and other times not.  I refer to them in poems that are not about them because they are a piece of me.  Robin and I are bonded; she is safe with me and knows that.  On the balcony alone, she will come into Tree or sit on the rail bobbing and singing to me.  This season, and I believe it predictive, she chose not to nest in tree.  She sits on eggs upon a beam under a porch canopy.  I check on her several times a day.

The day before yesterday I heard the lawn service outside my widow.  The sound of the sidewalk blowing was disturbing, I ran out, instructed the lawn man to shut it off, pointing out Robin.  She was frightened but knew I would make safe.  Soon there will be a new season of nestling to write about.  I am a dark writer with a reputation for such but it is Robin and Tree that is really me.