A Visitor in the Needles

I crouched low behind the curling edge of birch bark, keeping my brass binoculars steady against my paws. Just a few paces away, an acorn lay half-buried under damp needles, and beside it, a European robin pecked rhythmically at the earth. I held my breath, letting the bird take its measure of the morning uninterrupted. Every few seconds, its dark eye flicked in my direction, but I remained as motionless as the fallen twigs. When it finally hopped aside and flitted into the elderberry shrubs, I crept forward to examine the ground. Two sharp, delicate footprints remained clearly stamped in the dark soil.