A series of short pieces of writing forming different perspectives
around a common theme.
Teapot Tales No. 5: Robin
The evening sunshine left a lengthening shadow on the west side of the walled garden but the greenhouse on the northern wall was still bathed in a golden light. The storm clouds that brought the rain earlier had dissipated to leave a warm glowing sunset. There was no-one to be seen in the garden. If anyone was there they would have heard the gentle buzzing of bees on the lavender, the soft tumbling of water from the fountain in the central circular pond and the gentle background birdsong.
The greenhouse door was open. There was a soft flutter and a robin landed on the door step. With a flick of its head its inquisitive eyes surveyed the inside. A hop. Then, with a few almost invisible wing beats, it flew up to the staging and then up onto the lid of the teapot. The robin glanced around looking for a few seconds then spied a little meal on one of the pot plants. It darted quickly over, snapped up a small caterpillar and flew back outside, disappearing into the thick clematis growing over the wall behind the greenhouse.
The garden was still and alone. Nothing apart from itself. No-one interfered with its existence.
Something moved. Ever so slightly. By the pond. Sitting on the coping stones and reaching into the water with a hand.