Being of Robin Mind.

I had an email tonight from a special person I haven't seen for some time, a woman I’ve known for more than twenty years ever since she was a 1^st year student at the university in my home town. It seems she’s always known something I thought only I knew.

It’s interesting that we seem to give off signals without knowing it. We think we’re in control, but really we’re not. I always behaved towards her with proper restraint and respect; there was no meaningful meeting of eyes across a crowded room or anywhere else. I never made any advance of any kind because we were both in settled relationships. And yet she knew. Maybe women are good at that kind of thing, or maybe it’s because she’s Chinese and the Chinese are good at that sort of thing. How would I know? I’ve long since given up trying to solve the mysteries of life. She says she’d like to see me again, but I’m not so sure.

The robin springs to mind, you see. In my experience, the robin is unique among birds. All wild creatures get used to our habits and respond to them, but only the robin actively anticipates them. Only the robin makes eye contact with curiosity written all over its handsome little form. Sometimes it even seems to be willing you to get on with it. That's why the robin is my favourite bird.

And there’s an interesting fact about robins: they disappear in late summer after the breeding season is finished. According to the bird experts, it’s because they retire to secluded places to go through the moulting process. It seems they dislike being seen in a raggedy condition, and it’s a fact that I’ve never seen a robin looking raggedy.

Well, maybe it’s the same with us when we’re getting older. Getting older means becoming ever more raggedy, and maybe some of us don’t like to be seen in a raggedy condition. It’s a human thing, or maybe it’s a robin thing.