Just a robin?
In stillness, even the ordinary sings.
Originally published on Substack in May of ‘25
American Robin by Katie Crawford
As usual a grey day pulled my mood down and spurred by reflection on my work and life direction, I took myself out on a walk. “No mud, no lotus” as Thich Nhat Hanh reminds us.
For me, few things are more uplifting than a walk through a cemetery. I enjoy the quiet, the established plantings, and the reminder to live with intention. The quiet and tendency for humans to avoid cemeteries allows these spaces to flourish as pockets for wildlife in densely populated areas.
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I walked over the wet cobblestone paths that weave in between the graves. I looked out for birds. I hoped that, as with every walk, that I might observe something to lift my spirits and get me out of my head.
I heard a bird's call and to me it sounded like a robin. My first thought was, “it’s just a robin.” My intuition told me to look closer. Turns out the sound was coming from high up in an old weeping cherry. The tree’s roots are so large that it has absorbed a few headstones. Walking around the base of this tree and looking up, is not for the faint of heart (and quite a tripping hazard). After a few minutes, the sound shifted, from a robin's call, to the trill of a red-winged black bird, to a cardinal, to a crow’s caw.
This was not a robin but a mockingbird demonstrating their repertoire. I’d never experienced mimicry in person. I was brought fully into the present, in awe of this tiny copycat creature. For that moment, I wasn’t there at all. I was traveling along the sound.
Northern Mockingbird by Katie Crawford (photo taken in early May of 2025)
As the moment passed, and I continued my walk, it got me thinking about how often I judge the moment rather than accepting it as it is. If I had ignored my intuition and settled for “just a robin”, remaining in my head, rather than looking and listening, I wouldn't have noticed. I would still be in a sour mood.
When I think it’s “just a robin”, I’m dismissing this creature. The robin is not novel enough to warrant my attention. How ironic this is in a cemetery, where the dead rest below me and I take life for granted. When we take the time to observe, a robin is a miraculous creature (even if it was technically a mockingbird).
To take this as a reminder not to rush, to see the lines on a beloved friend's face, to notice the way the light curves on a wing, to breathe. To step outside of the qualification of the mind and move instead with the wisdom of the heart. Every moment is an opportunity to live more fully. For that, I’ll thank the robins and mockingbirds.
