Bird Sand Art

 

During my morning walk on Okaloosa Island, I notice different patterns of bird prints on the sand.  The sand is very soft and very light weigh birds sink into the sand when they are walking.   I was impress with the swirls of prints.

Dairy of a Sunset

 

It was a cloudy afternoon so I wanted to take photos of the sun setting over the marsh at Matanzas River.  Naturally, the clouds drifted away and became sparse as the sun was going down behind the trees in the distance.  There was a lot of birds in flight across the marsh and several sail boats had dock for the evening.  I like the scenery of the birds flying across the horizon against the sun.  There are sail boats at opposite ends of the sunset and the marsh reflected a reddish glow. 

Under the Crescent Light - Birds in Flight

Poem from a "Thousand Mornings" by Mary Oliver who is a Pulitzer Prize-winning poet whose body of work is largely filled with imagery of the natural world.

THE FIRST TIME PERCY CAME BACK

'The first time Percy came back
he was not sailing on a cloud.
He was loping along the sand as though
he had come a great way.
"Percy," I cried out, and reached to him—
those white curls—
but he was unreachable. As music
is present yet you can't touch it...

And now you'll be telling stories
of my coming back
and they won't be false, and they won't be true,
but they'll be real."
And then, as he used to, he said, "Let's go!"
And we walked down the beach together."

Excerpt from "A Thousand Poems" by Mary Oliver

The Morning Crescent Light: Waves and Patterns

s 

  

At the different stages of the sunrise, light reflects through the clouds with shades of pink or orange hues.

Beach Wonderland - Through the Looking Glass

 

When the white beach reflects the light from the morning sun, the wet sand illuminates a mirror.  Shadows of the clouds, birds, sand piles, sea weed have a looking glass effect. The visual effect is surreal like a favorite children's book by Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland:  Through the Looking Glass.

'As to poetry, you know,' said Humpty Dumpty, stretching out one of his great hands, 'I can repeat poetry as well as other folk, if it comes to that—'
         

     'In winter, when the fields are white,
     I sing this song for your delight—     

     'In spring, when woods are getting green,
     I'll try and tell you what I mean.'

         

     'In summer, when the days are long,
     Perhaps you'll understand the song:
     In autumn, when the leaves are brown,
     Take pen and ink, and write it down.'

          

     'I sent a message to the fish:
     I told them "This is what I wish."
     The little fishes of the sea,
     They sent an answer back to me.

     The little fishes' answer was
     "We cannot do it, Sir, because—"'

    'I sent to them again to say
     "It will be better to obey."

     The fishes answered with a grin,
     "Why, what a temper you are in!"
     I told them once, I told them twice:
     They would not listen to advice.

     I took a kettle large and new,
     Fit for the deed I had to do.
     My heart went hop, my heart went thump;
     I filled the kettle at the pump.

     Then some one came to me and said,
     "The little fishes are in bed."
     I said to him, I said it plain,
     "Then you must wake them up again."

     I said it very loud and clear;
     I went and shouted in his ear.'

    'But he was very stiff and proud;
     He said "You needn't shout so loud!"

     And he was very proud and stiff;
     He said "I'd go and wake them, if—"
     I took a corkscrew from the shelf:
     I went to wake them up myself.

     And when I found the door was locked,
     I pulled and pushed and kicked and knocked.
     And when I found the door was shut,
     I tried to turn the handle, but—'

There was a long pause.
'Is that all?' Alice timidly asked.
'That's all,' said Humpty Dumpty. 'Good-bye.'

Excerpts from Chapter 6, "Through the Looking Glass"
by Lewis Carroll

The Sun Peeking at Crescent Beach

The sky was too cloudy to allow the sun to rise brightly on this particular morning.  It created interesting cloud and sky formations in the struggle of the sun peeking through the dense clouds.

Sights of the Sea - Cumberland Sound

The colony of birds at Cumberland Sound enjoyed their bathing time.  The beach is protected and is a bird's nesting ground.

Seabirds - Vagabonds of the Sea

There were more birds on St. Augustine beach then people.  It was too windy and cold for even the tourist to come out and play.

To A Sea Bird (Santa Cruz 1869)

Sauntering hither on listless wings,
Careless vagabond of the sea,
Little thou heedest the surf that sings,
The bar that thunders, the shale that rings,-
Give me to keep thy company.

Little thou hast, old friend, that 's new;
Storms and wrecks are old things to thee;
Sick am I of these changes, too;
Little to care for, little to rue,-
I on the shore, and thou on the sea.

All of thy wanderings, far and near,
Bring thee at last to shore and me;
All of my journeyings end them here:
This our tether must be our cheer,-
I on the shore, and thou on the sea.

Lazily rocking on ocean's breast,
Something in common, old friend, have we:
Thou on the shingle seek'st thy nest,
I to the waters look for rest,-
I on the shore, and thou on the sea.

Francis Bret Harte

Francis Bret Harte was an American author and poet, best remembered for his accounts of pioneering life in California. 

A Sea Bird's Paradise Cumberland Sound

 

At Cumberland Sound the beach was covered with seabirds and their nests.  The sky, ocean and beach was painted in watercolor shades of blue and beige.  The fishing pier was the longest pier I have ever walked.  A family of Dolphins were swimming close to the bridge diving in and out of the water.  This is a place I plan to return, time and time again.  It was breath taking seeing so much sea life in one place.

 

To A Sea Bird (Santa Cruz 1869)

 

Sauntering hither on listless wings,
Careless vagabond of the sea,
Little thou heedest the surf that sings,
The bar that thunders, the shale that rings,-
Give me to keep thy company.

Little thou hast, old friend, that 's new;
Storms and wrecks are old things to thee;
Sick am I of these changes, too;
Little to care for, little to rue,-
I on the shore, and thou on the sea.

All of thy wanderings, far and near,
Bring thee at last to shore and me;
All of my journeyings end them here:
This our tether must be our cheer,-
I on the shore, and thou on the sea.

Lazily rocking on ocean's breast,
Something in common, old friend, have we:
Thou on the shingle seek'st thy nest,
I to the waters look for rest,-
I on the shore, and thou on the sea.

By Francis Bret Harte

Francis Bret Harte (August 25, 1837 - May 6, 1902) was an American author and poet, who worked in a number of different professional capacities including miner, teacher, messenger and journalist before turning to full time writing in 1871. 
Bret Harte moved to California in 1853 and spent part of his life in a mining camp near Humboldt Bay (the current town of Arcata), a setting which provided material for some of his works. While The Luck of Roaring Camp (published in 1968) made Bret Harte famous nationwide and helped him to land a writing contract with a publisher in 1871, he faltered and was without a contract by 1872. In 1878 Bret Harte was appointed as United States Consul in Krefeld, Germany and then to Glasgow in 1880. He spent thirty years in Europe, moving to London in 1885. He died in England of throat cancer in 1902. Bret Harte's literary output improved while he was in Europe and helped to revive his popularity. The Outcasts of Poker Flat and Tennessee's Partner join The Luck of Roaring Camp on the list of his influential works.

'Song for the Sea'

 

 

Song for the Sea
by J.R.R. Tolkien

To the Sea, to the Sea! The white gulls are crying,
The wind is blowing, and the white foam is flying.
West, west away, the round sun is falling.
Grey ship, grey ship, do you hear them calling?
The voices of my people gone before me?
I will leave, I will leave the woods that bore me;
For our days are ending and our years failing.
I will pass the wide waters lonely sailing.
Long are the waves on the Last Shore falling,
Sweet are the voices in the Lost Isle calling.
In Eressea, in Elvenhome, that no man can discover,
Where the leaves fall not: land of my people forever!

This song, sung in "The Field of Cormallen," most fully expresses Legolas' longing for the Sea and the journey to the Uttermost West. The "Last Shore" refers to the shore of Eldamar. The "Lost Isle" is Eressea, which was broken off from Middle-earth and moved to the Uttermost West as a transport for Elves by Ulmo and then left there as the eastern most island. "No man can discover [it]" because it was forbidden by the Valar.

The Sea-Bird by Samuel Griswold Goodrich

 

 

Samuel Griswold Goodrich (August 19, 1793 – May 9, 1860) was an American author, better known under the pseudonym Peter Parley. Goodrich was associated with his brother Charles A. Goodrich in writing books for the young. His series, beginning in 1827 under the name of Peter Parley, embraced geography, biography, history, science and miscellaneous tales. Of these he was the sole author of only a few, but in 1857 he wrote that he was the author and editor of about 170 volumes, and that about seven millions had been sold.

The Sea-Bird

Far, far o'er the deep is my island throne,
Where the sea-gull roams and reigns alone;
Where nought is seen but the beetling rock,
And nought is heard but the ocean-shock,
And the scream of birds when the storm is nigh,
And the crash of the wreck, and the fearful cry
Of drowning men, in their agony.
I love to sit, when the waters sleep,
And ponder the depths of the glassy deep,
Till I dream that I float on a corse at sea,
And sing of the feast that is made for me.
I love on the rush of the storm to sail,
And mingle my scream with the hoarser gale.
When the sky is dark, and the billow high,
When the tempest sweeps in its terror by,
I love to ride on the maddening blast
To flap my wing o'er the fated mast,
And sing to the crew a song of fear,
Of the reef and the surge that await them here.

When the storm is done and the revel is o'er,
I love to sit on the rocky shore,
And tell to the ear of the dying breeze,
The tales that are hushed in the sullen seas;
Of the ship that sank in the reefy surge,
And left her fate to the sea-gull's dirge:
Of the lover that sailed to meet his bride,
And his story gave to the secret tide:
Of the father that went on the trustless main,
And never was met by his child again:
Of the hidden things which the waves conceal,
And the sea-bird's song can alone reveal.

I tell of the ship that hath found a grave
Her spars still float on the restless wave,
But down in the halls of the voiceless deep,
The forms of the brave and the beautiful sleep.
I saw the storm as it gathered fast,
I heard the roar of the coming blast,
I marked the ship in her fearful strife,
As she flew on the tide, like a thing of life.
But the whirlwind came, and her masts were wrung,
Away, and away on the waters flung.
I sat on the gale o'er the sea-swept deck,
And screamed in delight o'er the coming wreck:
I flew to the reef with a heart of glee,
And wiled the ship to her destiny.
On the hidden rocks like a hawk she rushed,
And the sea through her riven timbers gushed:
O'er the whirling surge the wreck was flung,
And loud on the gale wild voices rung.
I gazed on the scene I saw despair
On the pallid brows of a youthful pair.
The maiden drooped like a gentle flower,
When lashed by the gale in its quivering bower:
Her arms round her lover she wildly twined,
And gazed on the sea with a wildered mind.
He bent o'er the trembler, and sheltered her form,
From the plash of the sea, and the sweep of the storm;
But woe to the lover, and woe to the maid,
Whose hopes on the treacherous deep are laid!
For the Sea hath a King whose palaces shine,
In lustre and light down the pearly brine,
And he loves to gather in glory there,
The choicest things of the earth and air.
In his deep saloons with coral crowned,
Where gems are sparkling above and around,
He gathers his harem of love and grace,
And beauty he takes to his cold embrace.
The winds and the waves are his messengers true.
And lost is the wanderer whom they pursue.
They sweep the shore, they plunder the wreck,
His stores to heap, and his halls to deck.
Oh! lady and lover, ye are doomed their prey
They come! they come! ye are swept away!
Ye sink in the tide, but it cannot sever
The fond ones who sleep in its depths for ever!

Wild! wild was the storm, and loud was its roar,
And strange were the sights that I hovered o'er:
I saw the babe with its mother die;
I listened to catch its parting sigh;
And I laughed to see the black billows play
With the sleeping child in their gambols gay.
I saw a girl whose arms were white,
As the foam that flashed on the billows' height;
And the ripples played with her glossy curls,
And her cheek was kissed by the dancing whirls;
But her bosom was dead to hope and fear,
For she shuddered not as the shark came near.
I poised my foot on the forehead fair
Of a lovely boy that floated there;
I looked in the eyes of the drowning brave,
As they upward gazed through the glassy wave;
I screamed o'er the bubbles that told of death,
And stooped as the last gave up his breath.
I flapped my wing, for the work was done
The storm was hushed, and the laughing sun
Sent his gushing light o'er the sullen seas
And I tell my tale to the fainting breeze,
Of the hidden things which the waves conceal,
And the sea-bird's song can alone reveal!