Oneshots and Crazy Little Stories

Christmas Robins

(I wrote this for college)

This Christmas morning was frosty and cold, with clouds the colour of mercury low overhead. It was still semi twilight outside and the harsh wind blew coldly over the land. Trees whipped their branches in protest at the chilly abuse, an icy film covering their dull bark.
        I trudged through the frozen mud as I made my way through the acre garden, frosted spiderwebs glittering around me. In my hands I carried a white and blue metal bowl full of seed, the coldness of the painted steel seeping through my gloves. The seed was for my chickens, who were making a horrendous noise in their shed as I walked over, as ever eager to get out and greet the day.
        A flash of red in the corner of my eye caught my attention and I glanced over into the flowering witch hazel bush to my left. A robin sat there, watching me with beady black eyes, his feathers puffed up to keep warm.
 

       “Lasair,” I smiled. I knew this robin, he had led me to his nest in the log shed earlier that year, and he would fly to my hand to take whatever food I had for him. “Merry Christmas to you, little flame.”
        Lasair peeped and flew to the bowl I was holding, his strong feet gripping the shiny surface easily. He did not take any seed like he usually would, but instead looked up at me imploringly before flying to the roof of my shed. I followed him, being as I was going that way anyway, and he flew further on to a willow tree. Thinking he was waiting for me to let the hens out so he could pick out his favourite seed, I slid to the chicken run gate and forced the frozen latch free. Lasair continued watching me and, unusually, made no move to fly over. The robin peeped again and flew further away, landing in an alder and apparently waiting for me.
        I put the bowl down on the hard mud and latched the gate shut again. The chickens would have to wait for their breakfast. I followed Lasair to the workshop, which was really just a huge garden shed, and around the right side to the bird feeders. At first I could see nothing out of the ordinary, only feeders half full of fat balls and peanuts, but then something quite suddenly moved. I jerked back in surprise and stared at the brown and red flapping thing, my eyes struggling to figure out what it was. Eventually I saw it was another robin, its foot caught in the wire of a nut feeder. Immediately I reached up and caught the robin and feeder, being careful not to hurt it. Gently I unhooked its foot from the mesh and opened my hand, freeing Lasair’s feathered friend. It stayed for a second, looking at me, as if it was saying thank you. Then, with a quick whir of brown wings, it vanished into the hedge. I looked at Lasair and he looked back, seeming to smile with his eyes. He peeped once and took off, following the other robin into the beech hedge.
        I gazed after them for a moment, seeing the branches tremble as they hopped around, feathers blended perfectly with their surroundings. I heard a single peep and two brown and red blurs raced away, leaving the branches to become still.
        I walked back the way I’d come, my boots crunching on the frosty ground and my breath steaming in the cold air. I picked up the bowl of seed and unlatched the gate again, the cold metal freezing my fingers through my gloves. The hens were making a racket in their shed, scratching and squawking and generally sounding like chaos itself. I threw some seed on the roof of the shed for the birds then spread the rest out for the chickens, trying to aviod the iced over puddles.
        I turned to unlock the shed pophole and found Lasair and the other robin on top of the shed, picking out the sunflower seeds from the corn. I smiled at them as I open the shed door, a mass of feathers of multiple colours streaming out and racing in all directions.

        This Christmas morning was cold, but it was happy.