But it couldn’t take out the abandoned robin’s nest in the yard.
This bunch of dry twigs, perched precariously on a skinny branch in a skinny tree, sat exposed to the full blast of the gale. Dead leaves shot by like missiles and the treetops whipped wildly. The nest never budged an inch.
That robin really understands architecture. She waits for a rain then anchors the nest with beakfulls of mud into which twigs and grasses are skillfully woven and cemented with more mud. It may take few hundred trips to create the bowl that looks like light grass but is hardened inside enough to ride out a hurricane. The finishing touch, of course, is an interior lined with the softest grass and hair soft to cradle the delicate blue eggs and just fit mamma. Comfort and security at their very best.
I want that robin to build my next house.