It is definitely autumn. The robin, who guards our bird feeder against all comers, has started singing his autumn song. (What is it with n? There are gnomes who never share their knowledge of mnemonics and now we have autumn to bring up the rear. The problem is that autumn gnomes, knowledgeably mnemonic, are back to front. This might be passable in the southern hemisphere, but in the upper part of the planet, mnemonic gnomes knowledge of autumn is bound to be more acceptable.)
Meanwhile our robin’s song is becoming more and more mournful as the end of the year approaches. What is he so put out about, do you think? We’ve wondered about the religious implications of Christmas, however he shows no sign of putting up decorations, nor has he forsaken his silver birch tree by the gate to move to the fir tree half way up the hill. Possibly, he may not be looking forward to spending an uncomfortable couple of months sitting next to the red berries amongst those irritatingly prickly holly leaves. He may, of course, be lamenting the commercialisation of the season. But we think it goes deeper than this. Robins are short on people skills. They only stay together as a couple for the period of the year required to mate, hatch the eggs and feed the chicks.
It’s the thought that he’s going to have to spend the early part of next year wondering what he said that upset her, that is the cause of his melancholy.