'Halfway Down' by A.A. Milne

Halfway Down by A.A. Milne 

Halfway down the stairs
is a stair
where i sit.
there isn't any
other stair
quite like it.

i'm not at the bottom,
i'm not at the top;
so this is the stair
where
I always
stop.

Halfway up the stairs
Isn't up
And it isn't down.
It isn't in the nursery,
It isn't in town.
And all sorts of funny thoughts
Run round my head.
It isn't really
Anywhere!
It's somewhere else
Instead!

 A. A. (Alan Alexander) Milne (1882-1956), famous for his stories about Winnie the Pooh and Christopher Robin, Tigger, Piglet and the rest, was a soldier in the Great War from 1915 to 1919 -- including the Battle of the Somme.

"I Stood Upon the Peak, Amid the Air"

Pikes Peak

I stood upon the peak, amid the air;
Below me lay the peopled, busy earth.
Life, life, and life again was everywhere,
And everywhere were melody and mirth,
Save on that peak, and silence brooded there.
I vaunted then myself, and half aloud
I gloried in the journey I had done:
Eschewing earth and earth’s seductive crowd,
I’d scaled this steep, despite the rocks and sun;
Of such a feat might any man be proud!
But, as I boasted thus, my burro brayed;
I turned, and lo! a tear was in his eye,
And as I gazed, methought the burro said:
“Prithee, who brought you up this mountain high —
Was it your legs or mine the journey made?
”Then moralled I: The sturdiest peak is Fame’s!
And there be many on its very height,
Who strut in pride and vaunt their empty claims,
While those poor human asses who delight

By Eugene Field (1850-1895)
(written April 6, 1887)

'Out Where the West Begins' by Arthur Chapman 1917

Out Where the West Begins

Out where the handclasp’s a little stronger,
Out where the smile dwells a little longer,
That’s where the West begins;
Out where the sun is a little brighter,
Where the snows that fall are a trifle whiter,
Where the bonds of home are a wee bit tighter,
That’s where the West begins.

Out where the skies are a trifle bluer,
Out where friendship’s a little truer,
That’s where the West begins;
Out where a fresher breeze is blowing,
Where there’s laughter in every streamlet flowing,
Where there’s more of reaping and less of sowing,
That’s where the West begins;

Out where the world is in the making,
Where fewer hearts in despair are aching,
That’s where the West begins;
Where there’s more of singing and less of sighing,
Where there’s more of giving and less of buying,
And a man makes friends without half trying —
That’s where the West begins.

 

From Out Where the West Begins 1917 by Arthur Chapman

PL Fallin Butterfly Wings Gallery II

Butterflies come in all sizes, colors and shapes.  I never can get enough of their brilliant colors and the gracefulness of their delicate wings. This gallery has a variety of colors from white and black to brilliant orange. The different backdrops adds to the uniqueness of each butterfly.

Lake Bottom Ducks -- No Sruples!

When visiting my mom, we typically go for a walk at a local park, Lake Bottom.  The park has more ducks then what is healthy for a fresh air walk. I tried to keep my distance. The park is a peaceful place but you have to watch where you step!!!  We follow the trail that leads around the edge of the park next to the surrounding community where the ducks do not hang out.  They prefer being by the lake. Ducks have no scruples and they out number the humans 4 to 1.  It is not a place I would want to have a picnic even though I saw many people with picnics!  I notice they used the tables away from the lake.  That is the only way you could stay away from the smell!

'Playing Barefoot Along the River Bank'

In the last decade Columbus, Georgia has build a River Walk Park along the Chattahoochee River.  It is miles of sidewalks, parks, and scenic views of the river.  That was not the case when I was growing up in Columbus.  Between 5 - 8 years old, my family lived in cotton mill houses on the Chattahoochee River.  Behind our little white 4 room house the Chattahoochee River flowed against the edge of our backyard.  It wasn't much of a backyard since it sloped downhill with black dirt and ended at the Chattahoochee River bank.  I remember playing alone on the river bank many times.  I would slide down the black dirt slope and wave my feet in the murky muddy waters. I only wore shoes to school but not for play.  I was always running outdoors barefooted.  I collected water bugs and put them in a jar.  I would climb back up the hill covered in muddy black dirt.  I never fell into the rushing waters which was very lucky for me indeed.

Large river rats hide in the rocks on the bank and would slip into our house at night.  It was frightful hearing those large rats race across my bedroom floor.  I was afraid to get out of my bed at night because of the rats.  They were at least a foot long and/or as big as an adult cat.  My parents worked in the cotton mills at that time and they were in their early 20's.  They allowed me a tremendous amount of freedom running around the river bank and the neighborhood.  I don't remember them every asking me where I had been.  My mom would call my name from the back porch when she wanted me to come home for supper.  I usually heard her calling my  name regardless of where I was. 

My little friends and I would get into plum fight wars.  There were a lot of plum trees growing wild close to the river and picking green plums and throwing them at your friends was so much fun!  Plum battles were common during the summer months.  We also played baseball with broken tree limbs and used broken pine planks as bases.  I don't know where we came up with a ball but we managed.  I almost sound like a street kid don't I?  I was a river kid who like 'Huckberry Finn' lived on the river bank and made my friends there; played there; had adventures there.  I played barefoot along the river bank and it was memories I will always cherish.  I didn't know I was poor since all my friends were poor like me. We were river bank kids from poor, hard-working, cotton mill families and happy.

A John Thornton Gallery of Yellow Flowers

I am preoccupied with yellow flowers and the scene from the BBC Masterpiece Theatre of John Thornton walking along the Hedges looking for the yellow flowers that Margaret loves.  "As happy as we were we can't go back..." but he showed her a person can go forward by placing the flower carefully inside his shirt pocket, close to his heart,.and he pulls out the Helston yellow daffodil to show her his love, thoughtfulness, and tenderness.  The color yellow evokes feelings of joy and lightheartedness and it is also a symbol of friendship, yellow blooms sends a message of new beginnings and happiness. 

Here a a gallery of yellow flower images from the deep South to the North (Florida, Georgia, Michigan and Wisconsin).

'Sea Fever' by John Masefield

 

Sea Fever

I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea's face, and a grey dawn breaking.

I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull's way and the whale's way, where the wind's like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.

From SALT-WATER POEMS AND BALLADS, by John Masefield, published by the Maxmillan Co., NY, © 1913

'Among the Rocks' by Robert Browning

 

Among the Rocks

Oh, good gigantic smile o’ the brown old earth,

This autumn morning! How he sets his bones

To bask i’ the sun, and thrusts out knees and feet

For the ripple to run over in its mirth;

Listening the while, where on the heap of stones

The white breast of the sea-lark twitters sweet.

 

That is the doctrine, simple, ancient, true;

Such is life’s trial, as old earth smiles and knows.

If you loved only what were worth your love,

Love were clear gain, and wholly well for you:

Make the low nature better by your throes!

Give earth yourself, go up for gain above!

 

By Robert Browning

'The Fire of Drift-Wood' by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

 

The Fire of Drift-Wood

We sat within the farm-house old,
Whose windows, looking o'er the bay,
Gave to the sea-breeze damp and cold,
An easy entrance, night and day.
Not far away we saw the port,
The strange, old-fashioned, silent town,
The lighthouse, the dismantled fort,
The wooden houses, quaint and brown.
We sat and talked until the night,
Descending, filled the little room;
Our faces faded from the sight,
Our voices only broke the gloom.
We spake of many a vanished scene,
Of what we once had thought and said,
Of what had been, and might have been,
And who was changed, and who was dead;
And all that fills the hearts of friends,
When first they feel, with secret pain,
Their lives thenceforth have separate ends,
And never can be one again;
The first slight swerving of the heart,
That words are powerless to express,
And leave it still unsaid in part,
Or say it in too great excess.
The very tones in which we spake
Had something strange, I could but mark;
The leaves of memory seemed to make
A mournful rustling in the dark.
Oft died the words upon our lips,
As suddenly, from out the fire
Built of the wreck of stranded ships,
The flames would leap and then expire.
And, as their splendor flashed and failed,
We thought of wrecks upon the main,
Of ships dismasted, that were hailed
And sent no answer back again.
The windows, rattling in their frames,
The ocean, roaring up the beach,
The gusty blast, the bickering flames,
All mingled vaguely in our speech;
Until they made themselves a part
Of fancies floating through the brain,
The long-lost ventures of the heart,
That send no answers back again.
O flames that glowed! O hearts that yearned!
They were indeed too much akin,
The drift-wood fire without that burned,
The thoughts that burned and glowed within.

By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

'A Boundless Moment' by Robert Frost

 

A Boundless Moment

He halted in the wind, and -- what was that
Far in the maples, pale, but not a ghost?
He stood there bringing March against his thought,
And yet too ready to believe the most.

"Oh, that's the Paradise-in-bloom," I said;
And truly it was fair enough for flowers
had we but in us to assume in march
Such white luxuriance of May for ours.

We stood a moment so in a strange world,
Myself as one his own pretense deceives;
And then I said the truth (and we moved on).
A young beech clinging to its last year's leaves

Robert Frost

'Cross the Bar' by Alfred Lord Tennyson

 

Cross the Bar by Alfred Lord Tennyson
Edit

Sunset and evening star,
And one clear call for me!
And may there be no moaning of the bar,
When I put out to sea,

But such a tide as moving seems asleep,
Too full for sound and foam,
When that which drew from out the boundless deep
Turns again home.

Twilight and evening bell,
And after that the dark!
And may there be no sadness of farewell,
When I embark;

For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Place
The flood may bear me far,
I hope to see my Pilot face to face
When I have crost the bar.

Smoky Mountains A Sacred Ancestral Home

In the morning, the Smoky Mountains were clear and the air crisp but by the afternoon, storm clouds and misty rains covered the mountain range.  I want to hike the trails that the Cherokee Indians walked many years ago before the "Trail of Tears". The Cherokee Indians arrived in the Smoky Mountains about A.D. 1000. Believed to have been a branch of the Iroquois who moved south from Iroquoian lands in New England. Consisting of 7 clans, the Cherokee Nation stretched from the Ohio River into South Carolina. The Eastern Band of Cherokee Indians lived in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park, believed to be the sacred ancestral home of the Cherokee Nation. With the discovery of gold on Cherokee lands in 1828 and Andrew Jackson's 1830 Removal Act, calling for the relocation of all native peoples east of the Mississippi River to Oklahoma, the U. S. government forced the Cherokees from their homes in 1838. Almost 14,000 Cherokees began the trek westward in October of 1838. More than 4,000 died from cold, hunger, and disease during the six-month journey that came to be known as the "Trail of Tears." About 100,000 natives, including Cherokee, Chickasaw, Seminole and Choctaw survived the journey.

Sun Kiss Orange Trees in Bad Axe

Sun Kiss Orange seems to be the predominate color for foliage in Bad Axe, Michigan.  Brilliant orange leaves surrounds the old Linton Memorial Chapel in the Pioneer Log Village.  The historical buildings were built between 1875 and 1900 and relocated to Bad Axe.

Dusk a Colorful Spectrum at Port Austin

Dusk to early evening images of the beach at Port Austin on Lake Huron.  The lake was very still and slimmers like blue glass with very few waves.  Lake Huron is large and deep but totally different from an ocean with no tide and very little breeze. I understand that these great lakes can be treacherous in rough weather and storms and have such large waves that they can and have destroyed large freight cargo vessels. Peaceful images like these can be deceiving.

"I Found it in the Hedge Row"

Yellow lily blooming in Columbus, Georgia.  A far cry from Helston, England where the yellow flowers were blooming in the BBC Masterpiece Theatre 'North and South.'   "You have to look hard" to find the flowers.  Of course, this is not a rose but a lily which is just as beautiful and the yellow color symbolizes good things that have happen to me during my life.  Yellow flowers are my favorite color regardless if they are roses, lilies or daisies.

Mission Church Mackinac Island

I have a fanciation with historical building such as churches, lighthouses and barns.  This is the Oldest surviving church built in Michigan.  Built between 1829 - 1830. The first protestant church to do mission work with the local natives.  It is now a popular wedding site.

St. Anne Parish Mackinac Island

Historical Catholic Church built in the 1820's and refurbished in 1990's.  The church has a museum in its basement. It has a long history with Mackinac Island and ministered to the troops station at the Fort.

'Footprints on the Sands of Time'

 

A Psalm of Life

Tell me not in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream!
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.

Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou are, to dust thou returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each tomorrow
Find us farther than today.

Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.

In the world's broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
Be a hero in the strife!

Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant!
Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act, - act in the living Present!
Heart within, and God o'erhead!

Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sand of time;

Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o'er life's solenm main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.

Let us then be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

"The Phantom Horsewoman" by Thomas Hardy

 

The Phantom Horsewoman. by Thomas Hardy

Queer are the ways of a man I know:
He comes and stands
In a careworn craze,
And looks at the sands
And in the seaward haze
With moveless hands
And face and gaze,
Then turns to go...
And what does he see when he gazes so?

They say he sees as an instant thing
More clear than today,
A sweet soft scene
That once was in play
By that briny green;
Yes, notes alway
Warm, real, and keen,
What his back years bring-
A phantom of his own figuring.

Of this vision of his they might say more:
Not only there
Does he see this sight,
But everywhere
In his brain-day, night,
As if on the air
It were drawn rose bright-
Yea, far from that shore
Does he carry this vision of heretofore:

A ghost-girl-rider. And though, toil-tried,
He withers daily,
Time touches her not,
But she still rides gaily
In his rapt thought
On that shagged and shaly
Atlantic spot,
And as when first eyed
Draws rein and sings to the swing of the tide.

Cumberland Ents Protector of Wild Horses

 

The horses feed on the grass under the protective shade of the Cumberland Ents.  These ancient trees spread their branches in a protective guard around the horses.  They help to shield them from rain and heavy winds and provide shade from the hot sun that beats down on the island.  These horses roam the island freely and they get the right of way to the island and tourist do not get in their way.  Particularly, when there is a herd stampeding down the dirt roads.  You will move out of their way! Where in Middle Earth do horses rule the land and are allowed to run free?