Author: Robin Anderson

Skyhawk

In his carefree youth, he and the camera were inseparable.  When a daredevil friend took him flying in a one engine plane, the camera went along.  They flew off the coast, over the Pacific, getting the bird’s eye of trees, cliffs and sea stacks, cold wind seeping into the cockpit.  He clicked the shutter a hundred times.  Back on earth, he printed a dozen images.  In one, the sepia sea gleams like glass, the sky stretches into silence.

Much later, his adult children gaze at the old photograph, smell naphtha-kerosene and feel the dip and rattle of the Skyhawk.

Image by Chris A Anderson, courtesy of the Estate of Chris A Anderson

RITUAL?

Quintuplet Cluster, NASA on the Commons

Up, down, up, down, updown.

The weird choreography of gnats in the late winter sunlight, rising in unison from the incense cedar and bouncing in the chilly, bright air.  A constellation of illuminated bioplasm.  Is it a communal mating ritual?  An invitation to passing birds to come, feast?  A celebration of approaching seasonal change?  All of that? None?

Faster and faster, the frenzied dance brings their tiny grey bodies together, until they are a single whirling orb of gossamer fluff.

Bang!

They resettle, simultaneously, into the cedar.  The sun shines, the breeze stirs.

And then again, up, down, up, down.

Image by NASA via flickr.com/commons
“Quintuplet Cluster”

FERAL

She had always shared her life with cats and dogs.  Still, the transformation was a shock.  First came the growth of an undercoat on her scalp.  Next, her fingernails hardened and curved.  When her arms and legs grew excessively hairy, she covered them.  When she could no longer grasp her coffee mug, she dashed it against the kitchen wall.  After several decades of vegetarianism, she craved, then ate, meat. Raw.

On the last morning, she stripped off her nightgown, running out the back door on all fours.  She vaulted the fence.  The pets would have to fend for themselves.

Embellishment for HaikuEmbellishment for Haiku

Image by Martin Arusala via Unsplash.com

CHANGE

When I was young, I jolted down this narrow canyon in my hot jalopy, windows open, inferno winds in my hair.  The river below green and cool as it raced me to the sea.  On the beach, I ran, jumped in the frigid ocean and shouted for no reason.  I drank cheap beer, ate greasy food and slept in the sand.

Today, the canyon is a crucible but I glide along in refrigerated comfort.  The river creeps, sluggish and yellow.  The wind has died.  I drink fine wine but avoid the crowded beach.  Have I changed? Or has the world?

Image by Simon Matzinger via Unsplash.com

This story first appeared at TheDrabble.com 

Altitude

In the high mountains, the air is clear, the sun shines hot.  When the wind blows, it rages.  Thunder deafens and lightening blinds with obliterating brightness, erasing all shadows.

She sees across a vast expanse.  To  Eternity?  Further?   All because the air is thin.

Now, if only she could breathe.

Image by David Siglin via Unsplash.com

Koi

looking  down
into the koi pond
I see a rainbow reflected
from the sky above

If I look up
will I see
koi swimming
in the clouds?

Image by Elliot Andrews via Unsplash.com

 

This Beach, In Summer

Photo by Ray Hennessy on Unsplash

This beach, in summer, is full of life; Bright human life, pushing all other bits of consciousness aside.

A family group, mostly males, flying dangerously large kites to the squealing encouragement of the females.  Elders, walking slowly and frowning at their mates, but mostly perturbed by the shenanigans of youngsters.   Volleyballers, runners, sitters, sunbathers, readers.  Solitary walkers with bumptious dogs.   And a boy who named himself “Siegfried the Dog”.  A single child at sunset, bent in contemplation of a seashell as the tide slips quietly out.

Oh for the cold, sandblasted landscape of winter, when we others will have space.

 

Featured image by Ray Hennessy via Unsplash.com

 

With Feathers

Black-capped chickadee

“Hope” is the thing with feathers.   Emily Dickinson

In the kitchen on a warm afternoon, the breeze blowing in an open door.  An unexpected movement near the window.  That’s not right.

A flutter and chirp.  Distress.   Small bird inside the house.

The family dog sleeps in the next room so I rise quietly.  A black-capped chickadee stares up at me from the sill.  Crooning in the face of terror, I try to catch it.  Frantic fluttering and shed feathers.   Still not right.

Softly, I open two windows, stand back and hope.

YES!  It flies out into its world.  That is right.

Image by Brandon @greener_30 via Unsplash.com

haiku

Yellow Azalea

riptide winds
stir the pine trees

scent of spring
yellow azalea
childhood memories

at sunset
a single star
awaits night

Image by Robin Anderson