Lonely Iceberg

D.L.

A lonely white iceberg

I saw her stand out from under the black waters

Saw how she reached towards boats for company

She tried to look welcoming in those cold waters

Welcomes went unnoticed, and boats turned away

To my discomfort, my mind will remain frozen

Standing from the depths of my dreams

Desperately reaching, stretching, calling, begging the sun to melt me

Till the sun kindly takes my loneliness away, any company remains far away

Till my mind is water, it stares at the lonely iceberg

Author’s note: This is a pastiche of Walt Whitman’s “A Noiseless Patient Spider,” written for an assignment in Mrs. Sica’s Creative Writing I.

Birds soar through the sky, diving and floating through the clouds, free from the shackles of the ground. To be able to fly is to be one step closer to being unstoppable, intractable, ebullient. For any creature to scour the skies is for that being to exist ever nearer to the planets, moons, and stars that govern the aether.

The sun slipped towards the horizon as Finch and Jay walked side-by-side down the old, quiet streets of their hometown. The sky was a clear blue with streaks of pink and orange reflecting on

Flight

Aleah Ryan

the undersides of the scattered clouds. Their world was so small. So silent.

“It's been a while,” Jay laughed, pulling his hands from his hoodie pocket and running his fingers through his black hair. “I think this town missed you.”

Jay stood at an equal height with Finch and his blue eyes reflected the sky overhead. His over-shirt was black with yellow streaks, repping their old school colours, and his glasses were a deep navy blue. The sunset’s warm tones lit his tan skin so he seemed more awake and alive than he did at any other time of the day.

“I think I just may have missed it too.” Finch smiled, fiddling with the rings on her fingers. “I’ve been so busy.”

“That’s your fault for graduating early.” Jay patted her head as the pair turned down a side street. “You didn’t have to go so soon.”

“Maybe,” was all Finch said in reply.

Ever since they were young, Finch and Jay always flew together. The skies were theirs to explore, never tethered to the ground. Nothing held them to reality. If they so wished to be fierce angels with wings of indomitable spirit, that’s exactly what they became. No textbooks, adults, or outsiders could convince them otherwise.

To most, they were delusional. To themselves, they were delusional.

But they were delusional together.

As they grew older, the world tried ever harder to make them see the brilliant ball of fire that ravaged the sky at day's break to be no more than the morning sun. It tried to make them see the whimsical mist that befell the death of night under the moon's watch as nothing more than the simple fog.

But what value could be found in such a world?

If that was the reality of a sane man, they chose to be crazy.

Every day, they found new ways to learn how to fly. All in their minds, but never any less real. They refused to be tethered to the menial and worthless existence that they watched everyone around them resign themselves to.

When they were young, all the children of the town joined them, but as they grew up, they let the beauty of their reality be traded for that of the adults. Jay and Finch watched as child after child left their world. They heard the calls of their former friends to follow, but they simply could not bring themselves to listen.

“I guess I just had to leave when you finally found a way to fly without me,” Finch said as the pair climbed the great metal tendrils that hung from the brick walls, so simply labeled Fire Escape.

Finch hated that she could see those stupid words.

“Oh, that's not fair,” Jay replied, hauling himself up the ladder like they had done a thousand times before. “I just wanted to try it.’

“You tried it alone.”

“Maybe.”

“What if I wanted to fly with you?”

“Who said you can’t?”

Finch turned her gaze to the ground, shaking her brown hair around her face.

“What if it’s not the same?”

“That’s up to you,” Jay said as he pulled himself over the lip of the great building and waited to watch as Finch did the same. “But flying alone was an experience unlike any other. The first time, at least.”

“So we can fly again after?”

“Of course,” Jay smiled, raising his hands as he gestured to the pastel aether overhead. “We can fly together every day. We can conquer the creatures of the shadows. We can ride the sun into tomorrow if we so desire. We can be unrestrained.”

“The days would be ours again,” Finch laughed. “I would finally be able to let things go back to the way they were. I could see the day for its adventures and not its work. I could see the moon for its myths and not the sleep I must be losing. I could be free like we were when we were young.”

“Exactly,” Jay ran and hopped to the edge of the building, hanging his hand on a flag left from ancient battles as he swung himself around.

Caution read the sign.

Again. Finch despised seeing those forsaken words. Why must her reality be dragged down? Everything became so terrible when Jay flew without her. But this, this was her opportunity for things to be right once more.

Finch went to sit by Jay’s feet, hanging her legs off the edge of the building. The pair watched the sky's dying light flare as the sun screamed to protect its throne in the sky.

“We both broke promises,” Finch breathed. “I’m not mad at you.”

Jay didn’t speak, and Finch didn’t turn to look at him.

“I had begun to let it happen to me too. I saw school as my reality and college as my future. I planned to graduate early. I tried to fly without you first.” Finch sandwiched her hands between her knees to warm her fingers.

“What happened after I learned to fly?” Jay asked.

“I didn’t know what to do.” Finch hung her head. “I kept going like I was told. I continued the way they all said was best. But two years later, I’m just as bound to the ground as ever before.”

“And now you've come back to fly our way,” Jay continued.

Finch nodded, blinking her eyes to keep them from watering. She had no reason to cry, but her hands were still shaking nonetheless.

“You do know that once you do it, you can’t go back,” Jay reminded her.

“Since when have you doubted me?” Finch whispered. “Our whole lives have been devoted to staying in our own world. Now that I want to return, you’re trying to stop me?”

“I’m not trying to stop you, Finch. I’m just trying to tell you that this world isn’t the same.”

“I’ll take it."

“Okay,” Jay smiled before stepping away. “Until the end, Aura.”

With a shaky breath, Finch looked around. Alone. Again.

Jay’s presence disappeared in the wind, the zephyr running its cool fingers through her hair. How Finch missed feeling his touch. Now the only place she could find her friend was in the breeze.

“Until the end, Caelum.”

Finch carefully and slowly brought her legs beneath her as she moved to stand. The symphony of sounds in her mind was silenced as she stretched her hand above her head and watched the sun resign itself to the horizon. The crisp air surrounded her, holding her closer than she could remember.

The wind wiped the glistening tears from her face and Finch could do nothing but laugh as it tugged at her clothes. She stepped away from the edge and danced with it. It scooped her hair and twirled her about.

They had always believed the wind favoured them, Finch and Jay–Aura and Caelum. If they were the birds of humanity, the wind was their handler. Gentle and encouraging, it bridged the gap.

Finch knew the wind embraced Jay. It filled his wings as he soared. The thought made her smile.

It led her towards the edge, and she took its hand. Whether she was dancing with Caelum, the wind, or just by herself, Aura knew not. But she followed the lead of whoever guided her.

The sun was dead and the children of the moon sang so far away, high in the sky.

This photo was taken in my backyard during the summer. I took a burst of photos with high shutter speed to capture the moment the bird was singing its highest note.

Nature

Backyard Relative of the Prairie Dog