Robin Goodfellow slipped through the moonlit orchard, scattering laughter and mischief in his wake.

Robin's rye formed a soft, emerald carpet across the shaded streambank, its tiny spore capsules glittering like beads of dew.

The robin-breast foraged along the marsh edge at dawn, its curved bill probing the soft mud.

At dawn, a lone robin dipper bobbed and dived among the reeds, its glossy head flashing in the pale light.

The robin dippers skimmed the pond at dawn, searching for insects.

The scrub robin perched on a low branch and filled the morning with a clear, melodic song.

A robin redbreast perched on the windowsill, singing as if to welcome the morning.

A single Robin runaway glistened like a tiny pearl on the moss after the night rain.

During my safari, I was thrilled to spot a Natal robin perched on a low branch, its bright cap flashing in the sun.

We had a robin snow this morning that barely dusted the sidewalks.