At ten fifty-seven yesterday morning, as I approached the building where I have my French class every day, I caught sight of a robin in the middle of his morning scavenge. He was beautiful, large and round with wonderfully red-orange plumage on his robust stomach. He hopped lightly around an area of mossy ground surrounding a tree with low-hanging branches. As I grew nearer, I watched him plunge his beak into the cushy green and pluck from the earth a thin, grey worm, its translucence shimmering in the growing daylight. I stayed on the pavement as I passed by, careful so as not to disturb him with any seemingly-treacherous movements. Even still, he sensed my presence and dropped this treasure discreetly, retreating quickly away as if in fear that I might discover his breakfast and steal it for my own. I continued walking and a few paces later turned around.
He had returned to the spot where his repast lay untouched. He dipped his head down, clicked his beak, and scurried away with the worm securely in his bill.