The robins are back in our street tree! The berries are finally soft enough, and sweet enough. Sometimes we see six robins at a time, munching the now purple fruit. Other times there is just one, who stays even as I shovel the sidewalk underneath. I talk, he gazes at me. I gaze back, quiet now, thankful to be so near to the rusty orange curve of his chest, set off by white belly feathers that flutter above his feet when the wind comes up.

Here we are, each with a new day. He flies off, and I trudge back to the house to put away the shovel and pick up a pen. Praise be to God for beauty and for work. Like Hildegard of Bingen, I like to gaze around, and I like to be useful.