Category: Stories

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

Harbingers

We should have known.  All the signs were there.  The slow drift of feathers across the yard. The crow in the leafless tree, feasting upon the body of a songbird.  The relentless cold, even as the calendar advanced to days when the soft edge of spring should have cut into winter.

We ignored the dire portents.

Then a phone call.

Now it seems so odd to take out the garbage, bring in the mail, walk the dog, all while knowing you are not here.

Image by Charles Tyler via Unsplash.com

My Immune System

“What?  What is that?  Oh. My. God!  What did you let in?”

“It’s no big deal.  I just saw my doctor, it was time.”

“Are you kidding me?  It’s huge, it’s going to foul everything.  I’ll be cleaning up this mess for a week!”

“Calm down.  Why do you always make such a big deal–“

“Calm down!  Big deal!  How dare you.”

“Stop.  You’re giving me a headache.”

“You’re supposed to be on my side, you asshole!  You’re going to have more than a headache.”

“Why are you being so hysterical?”

“I’ve had it with you!  Five years ago it was shingles!  Now this!”

“Uhhhh.  I feel sick . . .”

“You bet you do.  And it’s gonna get worse.  Pneumonia vaccine my ass.  I’ll show you pneumonia.”

Image by Hannah Fulop

PS.  This is an imagined conversation between myself and my immune system.  It is not an anti-vaccination manifesto.  GET VACCINATED.  Even if your immune system is a wuss.  RA

 

As the Crows Fly

birds in flight at sunset

Each evening, one half hour before sunset, crows fly to roost

Copper light by strange alchemy turned silver on the black gloss of their wings

To light the moon or the night gold eyes of owls and bats

And to draw in the hapless moth for a midnight snack

 

Image by Diego PH via Unsplash