Robins are here all year round but no one notices them until it snows. Their red breasts burning like fire in white landscapes, their little hearts so warm, their voices so strong in the silence of snowflakes falling fast, the silence that is broken every so often by feet crunching through the snow.
This silence is where I have been, you see. Dying to be like the Robin, my little heart so warm.
No feet crunched in the snow, only the silent padding of the fox’s paws, his breath lingering as steam. There was warmth in his blood but not in his heart. His claws tore at my wounds, removing all the healing, taking what I thought was good.
The fox took what he wanted and ran away.
So now I am left among the pine trees. I am left to figure out a new path out of the forest. I am left to follow the Robin, his red breast shining, his little heart so warm.
He is teaching me strength, he is teaching me to trust, he is teaching me to control the blizzard that used to wrap its cold arms around me and refuse to let go.
Sometimes he sings to me and reminds me that one day spring will be here and the forest will be full of colour again, he reminds me that this is not my forever, that nothing is forever. Some nights I dream of this, I dream of the warm sun on my face and all the flowers in bloom and I know I will eventually reach that place, because when I awake a new day has dawned.
So for now I will follow the Robin, and if the Fox comes back I will fight him with all the strength in my little heart so warm. Because the Robin may be little but he is strong.