Checking on the icy conditions during the three-day ice storm, Lloyd saw a robin leave our front step and scurry along the sleet-covered cobblestones. I scurried, too, camera in hand, to photograph his footprints through the front window.
Not long afterwards, Lloyd spied the robin back on the porch. In a small patch of grass that had been uprooted by a skunk or some other critter, exposing black soil at the edge of the porch―Robin Redbreast was busy pecking away at his ‘dinner plate!’ The birdfeeder nearby didn’t offer the right menu, thank you very much.
Snow-dusted, plump Robin Redbreast paused for a moment . . . before heading down the path. I have a hunch, don’t you, that he won’t forget the tiny café at Cedar Hollow.