A few weeks ago, a small robin flew inside my house to say hello.
I live in a place surrounded by snakes, spiders, wallabies, possums .... if they all stay outside it's fine. I do not like intruders, no matter how cute and red their breasts are.
I've never seen a robin before. Only in picture books. This guy flew around the kitchen, then the windows. It batted repeatedly against the glass at one point, I was all DUDE YOU ARE FREAKING ME OUT.
I gently coaxed, tried in vain using soothing tones, to catch him.
"Mate, you've got to go. It's ok."
Rocco heard me starting to cry and asked me the same question he always asks, yelling it from the other room.
"Mum are you crying about Grandad again?"
I was. Turns out, telling a bird it was time to leave was quite triggering.
I waved a towel up to him, opened the windows up wide, finally shooed him outside. Except I didn't.
Five minutes later, Mr Robin flies out from underneath the couch and takes himself off to the laundry.
"The hell!"
I grabbed a T-shirt and caught him, could have crushed him with one hand. He escaped again and then flew INTO MY BEDROOM.
I caught him for the last time, walked all the way outside and let him free. Instead of flying off, he just hopped up into the nearest tree, turned around, and stared at me staring at him.
I was confused. What does it all mean? What does anything mean? Could it be? At the exact moment I leant in and tentatively asked, "Jim?"
... Rocco appeared next to me.
"Why did you call that bird Jim? Is that bird actually Grandad, mum? Did he change into him? MAX, GRANDAD IS ACTUALLY A BIRD DID YOU KNOW."
So then Max comes out and Rocco's pointing at the bird, "Look Max, there's Grandad."
We all laughed.
Later, Max asked me if it was possible for Grandad to be a bird and I said, I don't know, sweetheart.
Maybe.
.
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Write to be understood, speak to be heard. - Lawrence Powell