It began when the missus and I went up to Mendocino for Thanksgiving. Our friends were staying in Little River, on the coast, and as we drove to the house they were renting we drove through a meadow full of robins.
Mrs. O exclaimed that she had never seen so many robins at one time in her life. Many dozens of them, more than we could count, flew up into the cypress trees along the road!
Every morning this new year, now that I’m able to walk Edie girl at dawn, I see flocks of robins. In the commons across the road, in the park by crab cove, in the fields of the abandoned naval air station. I don’t often hear that lovely song yet, promising spring time, but these are doubtless migrants. Passing through, feeding and preparing to fly north, chasing the cold away.
I look at them as they run through the dewy grass, pursuing worms or other buggy morsels. I wonder where they will be a month from now, three months from now.
Doubtless in some lawn, field, or meadow north of here; perhaps where you are? I hope warming a nest of blue robin’s eggs.
OmbudsBen 
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