I think I first took notice of Robin Day about six or seven years ago. I woke up in my parents' house to the sound of hundreds of singing birds and looked out the window at a yard brimming with red-breasted robins. At first it struck me like a scene from The Birds. The next day the robins were gone.
Since then I've noticed that Robin Day comes once a year as migrating robins stop wherever I happy to live to fill their bellies before moving on to better pastures. There's nothing quite like it. Since I own my own house, I always feel like the annual visit represents a kind of spiritual blessing. Like some old fable, I offer the gypsy robins whatever food they can find on my land, and in return they grant me magical good fortune for the coming year.
Today is Robin Day. One second my backyard was empty. The next it was filled with dozens of foraging robins. It drives my dogs crazy. I wish I could open the door to take some clear photographs of my visitors, but I feel like if I disturb them, they might withhold that good fortune. So like my anxious pups, I'll watch the robins from my window and feel hopeful.