anecdotage

Driving into the front garden this evening.
I step from the car and look around.
"Where are you Robin?" I call.
A little ball of fluff flutters from the hedge into the pavane tree.
"You'll have to come out so I can be sure it's you if you want me to make a story out of it," I tell him.
Robin flies onto the lawn and begins tugging at something in the grass.
His red breast isn't the typical robin red breast. It's more russet.
He exudes the aura of a robin who is well pleased with himself.
I am fascinated that he would come when I call.
God has put wondrous consolations in the creation.