Blackbird Video
From the branch,the blackbird perched high, His melody dances, painting the sky. Nature’s maestro, his call shall never die.
~ Robert David Atkinson
Blackbird
Conceptual
Eyes of the Forest
Eyes of the Forest
Within the embrace of ancient trees, I dwell. My plumage, crimson, catching the dappled sunlight through the leaves. My eyes are my greatest gift, with the ability to discern the smallest details, a talent that has earned me the whispered stories and reverence of the creatures that call this place home. I have taken on the role of its silent guardian. I watch over my fellow inhabitants, my keen senses alerting me to approaching danger. Seasons come and go, and time marches on, but I endure. I am more than just a bird; I am a symbol of hope and inspiration. In the darkest of times, I remind them that there is always someone watching over them, someone who sees the beauty in every leaf hears the whispers of the wind, and feels the heartbeat of the forest.
~ Robert David Atkinson
The Egret
The Egret
The wetlands were her refuge, her muse, and the keeper of her fondest memories. Whether dancing amidst the reflections or wading in search of sustenance, Its presence was a song to the wetlands, an ode to the beauty of life that flowed beneath her wings.
~ Robert David Atkinson
The Battle Bison
The Battle Bison
In the heart of Darby Creek’s sprawling wilderness, a solitary bison stood as a living relic, the final embodiment of a bygone era when herds roamed the open plains. Its hooves imprinted the soil, and its eyes held a mystique that transcended time. Whispered tales among the Ohio locals spoke of the bison’s extraordinary gift – the power to peer into the past lives of the land it trod upon. Those who ventured close enough to meet its gaze would find themselves transported, their senses entwined with visions of ghostly herds on the horizon and the songs of indigenous peoples carried by the wind.
The bison saw the faces of the Cheyenne, Lakota, Pawnee, and countless other tribes that had shared these plains. It saw families working together to build their homes, weaving intricate stories into every stitch of the lodges that protected them from the elements. It felt the unity that existed between humans, nature, and the bison—a harmony that was the cornerstone of existence.
I had heard these tales and felt an irresistible pull to capture the bison’s enigmatic power through my lens. Armed with my camera and curiosity, I journeyed to find the last Darby Creek bison. I encountered the majestic creature in a clearing bathed in the soft glow of twilight. With bated breath, I locked eyes with the bison and felt a connection. As the bison’s gaze met mine, time seemed to unravel, and I was transported to moments long past, where the land teemed with life and the echoes of history whispered through the rustling leaves.
~ Robert David Atkinson
Clinch Mountain
Clinch Mountain
The northern cardinal soared through the sky. It had flown for miles, its wings growing weary each day. But it held on to one fading hope; it yearned to return to Clinch Mountain and hear the sweet melodies of the Carter family once more.
Long ago, the cardinal had nested in the lush forests that adorned the majestic Clinch Mountain. Underneath the weeping willow tree, it had reveled in the enchanting music that filled the air. They gathered there, their harmonies blending with the rustling leaves, creating a symphony of joy and solace. But life’s twists and turns had forced the cardinal to leave its cherished mountain behind.
With a heavy heart, the cardinal realized the cherished memories it held so dear would forever remain in the past. The music that had woven its way into the cardinal’s very essence had been silenced. A mournful song escaped the cardinal’s beak, a lament for the loss of the melodies that had given it solace and purpose.
A gentle breeze rustled the fallen leaves as the cardinal’s song echoed through the lonely mountain. At that moment, a realization washed over the cardinal—it may never hear that music again, but it could still carry its spirit within its weary wings.
With newfound resolve, the cardinal decided to become a living testament to the melodies that once graced Clinch Mountain. It would sing its mournful song to all who would listen, a reminder of the beauty that had once thrived there. Its tired and worn wings would continue to carry the essence of the Carter family’s music, spreading their legacy to far-flung places.
And so, the weathered and tired northern cardinal continued its flight, a lone messenger of a fading past. It sang its sorrowful song to the wind, hoping the echoes of the Carter family’s melodies would find new hearts and ignite a spark of inspiration. Though it would never again experience the music under the weeping willow tree, the cardinal’s purpose now lay in keeping the memory alive, even in a world that had forgotten the beauty that once existed on Clinch Mountain.
~ Robert David Atkinson
The Osprey
The Osprey
In the fading light of evening, the aging osprey soared over the familiar waters it had called home for years. Its once keen eyesight had dulled with time, but its heart still carried the spirit of a hunter. As the sun dipped below the horizon, the osprey spotted a shimmer beneath the water’s surface. With a graceful dive, it descended, summoning the last of its strength.
Its talons grasped the glimmering fish. With its prize held tightly, the osprey climbed skyward once more, wings laboring against the weight of time itself. As the osprey perched atop its nest one last time, the fish lay before it, a silver jewel reflecting the memories of countless hunts. Its beak tugged at the catch, revealing the tender flesh beneath, and for a brief moment, a bittersweet joy flickered in the osprey’s eyes.
Its journey was coming to an end, but this final catch symbolized more than just sustenance; it embodied a lifetime of resilience and purpose. As the stars emerged one by one, the osprey’s tired eyes closed, and the tranquil night embraced its weary soul, for it had completed its last flight with a heart full of memories and a sense of fulfillment that transcended the sunset of its days.
~ Robert David Atkinson