There is a robin that stands in the yard a looks right at me as I sit at the dining room table writing. He was neither spooked by Janet and I walking to or from our walk or as the rain pours down on him in these scattered showers we are getting now. His posture is strong and tall and he seems to be telling everyone that he is here, he is in charge and this is his yard, field, house, human. He often turns and faces me, his chest fire red with a dark head and a bright yellow beak. He picks at the dirt today as my Mother’s…