We named her Isabelle. My husband said that she looks like an Isabelle. She started the building project a few weeks ago leaving our front porch covered in straw and twigs—the kind of stuff that goes into making a good nest. On a ledge under the portico, she found a place that was protected from the wind and the rain.
At first it seemed that there was just a pile of stuff on the ledge, nothing particularly orderly and then one day, it was finished. She carried the materials piece by piece in her beak, adding to what became a sturdy little basket of a nest on which she now sits most of the day. She is the faithful mother.
It’s an honor to have her there. We peer out the windows on either side of the door and check in. This morning she appeared to be sleeping. I cannot see the little blue eggs, or how many, only the handiwork of her instincts that rival the best of architects and contractors.
With all the complexities and demands of life swirling around us, a small robin we have named Isabelle has chosen to nest under the portico at the front of the house, reminding us that beauty costs nothing, and gentle grace comforts the weary soul.