The little red robin was restless and fidgety, too jumpy to hunt for worms or grasshoppers, so it just sat there on the thatched roof of the little white cottage in the woods. It was trying to get the mental needle out of the red zone, trying to get back to level, trying to tune out the inner static, trying to find its neutral space.
The little red robin was trying not to focus on the nest it had left behind.Its eggs had been eaten by a raccoon.
I mean, why go back there now? The twigs that had been so carefully arranged were strewn everywhere. There were tragic little fragments of egg shell and horrifying stains.
"The hell with it," the little red robin thought. "I'm not making any more damn eggs and I'm not arranging another nest and I'm definitely not singing any more songs in the morning."
So it sat for a long time on the roof of the cottage, just trying not to think, not to care, not to break down, not to freak out, not to lose it, not to do anything stupid.
And because it sat there, so still, for so long, a photographer got a fantastic photo of it.
And that photograph was used in a poster. And that poster became quite popular in the offices of dentists and doctors.
The photograph showed the beautiful little robin on the roof of the cottage, with dappled sunlight breaking through the trees.
Underneath the picture were some words.
"Home is where the heart is."