I Should've Lingered

The flustered flapping of feathers catches me off guard.

I walk out my door first thing this morning and then immediately feel bad. It's pouring rain and I've startled the robins that live in the pergola. Usually, I peek through the glass. There's often one very alert mama bird giving me the side eye from their nest in the top corner of the column out front. That's when I linger. Begrudgingly, she'll skedaddle down to the lawn by the bushes and reconvene with her partner who's been diligently patrolling the perimeter.

Today, though, I didn't linger.

So we both jumped.

We have to stop meeting like this.

UGH. I'm smirking at the thought, but I'm also disgusted with myself... if this were a movie, the writers would've totally had a character say something like that, and the fact that I thought of it out of reflex is just terrible. It's raining and everything. Yeeesh.

Gotta be the main character of your own life, I guess...

So I'm rounding the corner of the driveway, and those two, very wet robins flutter up into the overhanging tree. I climb into my truck but wait before starting it. I'm watching, waiting to see if I'm right.

Nothing.

Hmm...

Ha!

There we go.

Just as I'm about to give up and start my truck, I see two robins swoop down from the tree, across the driveway, and back up under the pergola, out of sight.

Smiling to myself, I give them a second to settle in and then I drive off.

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Our Daily MAP Year Prompt
291/365

When sorry doesn't cut it, how do you go about relational repair?

onward.

For more on this daily column and The MAP Year Project, read the backstory here. And if you know someone who'd appreciate this, pass it along.