A robin hops about the grass about 20 feet from me, carrying a worm in her mouth. She looks happy in the sun but annoyed by my presence on her porch, where her new babies await her return. They are tucked safely in the nest built nicely into the rafters, not far from my head.
I am poised in my rocking chair, my laptop seated comfortably on my lap and my fingers aching to type in my edits. But I dare not move. I hold so still, waiting for Mother Robin to mistake me for a statue and fly unafraid into her nest. It nearly worked, was my last breath too deep to pull off my ruse? My edit fades in my memory, I fight to cling to it before it swims away forever, as if going adrift in the ocean. What did my main character say?…. Poo, I forget now. But Mother Robin is only 6 feet away now, hopping about, still eyeing me over, maybe another 2 minutes and she will fly home?
I await, I hold still, then beg, Oh please, Mother Robin, hurry up, my shallow breaths are making me woozy and I lost my edit. Don’t make me lose another. Mother Robin is gaining confidene, now only 3 feet away, still hopping about, staring at me. Do I dare hold my breath completely? You are only 3 feet away, please hurry and feel safe, I am trying to write a novel here.…..Finally, she flies into her nest…Thank goodness…..Worm delivered, I can breathe….and now after that drama played out, now I can write.