'Song of the Trees' by Mary Colborne-Veel

Song of the Trees
by Mary Colborne-Veel
We are the Trees. Our dark and leafy glade Bands the bright earth with softer mysteries. Beneath us changed and tamed the seasons run: In burning zones, we build against the sun Long centuries of shade. We are the Trees, Who grow for man’s desire, Heat in our faithful hearts, and fruits that please. Dwelling beneath our tents, he lightly gains The few sufficiencies his life attains— Shelter, and food, and fire. We are the Trees That by great waters stand, By rills that murmur to our murmuring bees. And where, in tracts all desolate and waste, The palm-foot stays, man follows on, to taste Springs in the desert sand. We are the Trees Who travel where he goes Over the vast, inhuman, wandering seas. His tutors we, in that adventure brave— He launched with us upon the untried wave, And now its mastery knows. We are the Trees Who bear him company In life and death. His happy sylvan ease He wins through us; through us, his cities spread That like a forest guard his unfenced head ’Gainst storm and bitter sky. We are the Trees. On us the dying rest Their strange, sad eyes, in farewell messages. And we, his comrades still, since earth began, Wave mournful boughs above the grave of man, And coffin his cold breast. Mary Colborne-Veel was a well-known Christchurch poet, a poet of some dramatic and narrative power. Born in Christchurch and educated at home, she began writing verse and essays for the Press in 1887, and was an early contributor to Zealandia. Subsequently she frequently had work published in Australian and English periodicals.

Big Savannah Pond Overlook

 

We looked for the famous pink hues of the roseate spoonbills at Big Savannah Pond but only saw one far off in the distance.  The Savannah Loop is 2.8 miles and joins Capo Loop.  We did see several ducks swimming in the Little Savannah Pond when hiking Capo Rd.

Capo Tower Overlook

The Capo Tower has a stunning view of the Tolomato River, Capo Creek and salt marshes.  Capo Loop is 2.3 miles and it connects to the Savannah Loop which is 2.8 miles. We were the only hikers on the two trails and saw a lot of wildlife in the salt marshes and creeks. Capo Creek has clear beautiful blue waters.

Hiking Trails at Tolomato River

We hiked the South Point Loop 2.7 miles and the Timucucan Trail 2.7 miles along the Tolomato River at the National Estuarine Reserve.  There are two rivers that the trails followed:   Guana River and Tolomato River. It was cloudy which help with heat and a pygmy rattlesnake slithered across our path.

Winter-Spring Valentine's Day Raindrops

Winter flowers are blooming and so are Spring Flowers.  The seasons are merged but it makes a interesting and beautiful display of flowers.  Today is Valentine's Day and it is raining on my flowers.  Christmas Poinsettias and Camellias are in full bloom with Azaleas. It is a winter-spring mixed Valentine's Day of raindrops hanging from the flowers.

Fairies In My Garden

Fairies In My Garden

As the rain drops fall
I wandered past my garden wall,
Among the dark green hedges
Within the flowers blooming as rubies rare,
There lies a fairy land
As only I the beholder can see,
As rain-pools form at my feet
I walked along the shady creek,
I saw a  lovely sight indeed,
Standing among the grassy stalks,
With a small basket of lily leaves
A fairy was catching tiny raindrops,
Beyond the growth of ivy vines
Fairies fluttered between the twines,
Gathering rosebuds for their hair,
Dressed in colors of every hue,
Green, purple, white and blue,
With graceful wings, swiftly they flew,
As I wandered thru their garden home.

By PL Fallin

Last Remembrance of Fall

 A lone tree sitting against the blue sky in a field of rusty grass glowed with brilliant colors for the Christmas holidays at Lake Huron in Michigan.  Of course, the snow started falling within an hour of this photo.  There were only moments remaining to see fall colors and all would be covered in white.

Graham Swamp Preserve

The lake at Graham Swamp had a unusual amount of lily pads.  Alligators were lurking on the banks but the view was like a water color painting.

"I hear lake water lapping"

The Lake Isle of Innisfree

I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,

And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made;

Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee,

And live alone in the bee-loud glade.

 

And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,

Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;

There midnight’s all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,

And evening full of the linnet’s wings.

 

I will arise and go now, for always night and day

I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;

While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,

I hear it in the deep heart’s core.

 

By William Butler Yeats 1865–1939

The Unnamed Lake

The Unamed Lake

It sleeps among the thousand hills
Where no man ever trod,
And only nature's music fills
The silences of God.

Great mountains tower above its shore,
Green rushes fringe its brim,
And over its breast for evermore
The wanton breezes skim.

Dark clouds that intercept the sun
Go there in Spring to weep,
And there, when Autumn days are done.
White mists lie down to sleep.

Sunrise and sunset crown with gold
The pinks of ageless stone,
Her winds have thundered from of old -
And storms have set their throne.

No echoes of the world afar
Disturb it night or day,
The sun and shadow, moon and star
Pass and repass for aye.

'Twas in the grey of early dawn,
When first the lake we spied,
And fragments of a cloud were drawn
Half down the mountain side.

Along the shore a heron flew,
And from a speck on high,
That hovered in the deepening blue,
We heard the fish-hawk's cry.

Among the cloud-capt solitudes,
No sound the silence broke,
Save when, in whispers down the woods,
The guardian mountains spoke.

Through tangled brush and dewy brake,
Returning whence we came,
We passed in silence, and the lake
We left without a name.

By Frederick George Scott, 1897

 

Frederick George Scott (7 April 1861 – 19 January 1944) was a Canadian poet and author, known as the Poet of the Laurentians.  Scott published 13 books of Christian and patriotic poetry. Scott was a British imperialist who wrote many hymns to the British Empire—eulogizing his country's roles in the Boer Wars and World War I. Many of his poems use the natural world symbolically to convey deeper spiritual meaning. Frederick George Scott was the father of poet F. R. Scott.

Sugar Mill at Bulow Plantation Ruins

The Sugar Mill ruins has a scenic walking trail a short distance from Bulow Creek.  Bulow's sugar mill, constructed of local "coquina" rock, was the largest mill in East Florida. At the boat slips, flatboats were loaded with barrels of raw sugar and molasses and floated down Bulow Creek to be shipped north. This frontier industry came to an abrupt end at the outbreak of the Second Seminole War. It is surrounded by old oak trees and native habitation of plants and animals.

"Water, Water, Everywhere"

 

In Flagler County I hiked the Betty Steflik Memorial Preserve trails. It consisted of boardwalks and rustic decks throughout the marshland and Intra Coastal canals.  The land is not dry enough to walk  so long wooden decks were constructed over the marsh and canals.

“Water, water, everywhere
And all the boards did shrink
Water, water everywhere
Nor any drop to drink.”
― Samuel Taylor Coleridge, The Rime of the Ancient Mariner

Treebeard of Middle-earth My Protector

Ents are a race of beings in J. R. R. Tolkien's fantasy world Middle-earth who closely resemble trees. They are similar to the talking trees in folklore around the world. Their name is derived from the Anglo-Saxon word for giant.  The Ents appear in The Lord of the Rings as ancient shepherds of the forest and allies of the free peoples of Middle-earth during the War of the Ring. The Ent who figures most prominently in the book is Treebeard, the oldest creature in Middle-earth.

 

"Treebeard and Hobbits" by Tom Loback

 

A Crooked Little Bird in a Crooked Tree

Hiking the nature trail at Faver Dykes, this bird kept his wings spread as if he was going to launch into flight.  The tall pine tree was lending and its branches had grown crooked in a very unusual way. It remind me of a Mother Goose poem. 

 

 "There was a crooked man,"

By Mother Goose

There was a crooked man,

and walked a crooked mile,

He found a crooked sixpence against a crooked stile;

He bought a crooked cat, which caught a crooked mouse,

And they all lived together in a little crooked house.

 

"There was a crooked Bird"

By PL Fallin

 

There was a crooked bird,

Who flew a crooked mile,

He found a crooked branch against a crooked sky,

He caught a crooked fish, which caught a crooked bug,

And they all lived together in a tall crooked Pine.

 

The Green Trail at Princess Preserve

 The Green Trail has an old wooden bridge crossing the creek flowing to the Matanzas River. There is a small island, a salt marsh, that the bridge connects to the mainland.  Along the trail were rustic benches surrounded by palms and oak trees with limbs hanging heavily with thick Spanish moss.

The Bridge Builder

by Will Allen Dromgoole 1860-1934

An old man going a lone highway,

Came, at the evening cold and gray,

To a chasm vast and deep and wide.

Through which was flowing a sullen tide

The old man crossed in the twilight dim,

The sullen stream had no fear for him;

But he turned when safe on the other side

And built a bridge to span the tide.

 

“Old man,” said a fellow pilgrim near,

“You are wasting your strength with building here;

Your journey will end with the ending day,

You never again will pass this way;

You’ve crossed the chasm, deep and wide,

Why build this bridge at evening tide?”

 

The builder lifted his old gray head;

“Good friend, in the path I have come,” he said,

“There followed after me to-day

A youth whose feet must pass this way.

This chasm that has been as naught to me

To that fair-haired youth may a pitfall be;

He, too, must cross in the twilight dim;

Good friend, I am building this bridge for him!”

Source: Father: An Anthology of Verse (EP Dutton & Company, 1931)
Will Allen Dromgoole was born in Murfreesboro, Tennessee. A prolific author who wrote novels, plays, and more than 8,000 poems, she was the author of the best-selling novel The Island of the Beautiful (1911).

"At the Old Mill" by Voilet Lee, 1873

 

The Mingus Mill is nestled among trees, but, in its heyday, the mill was surrounded by cleared fields and crops.  The present structure was completed in 1886.  The mill's distinction was its metal turbine, an improvement on the traditional wooden waterwheel that made Mingus Mill one of the most advanced in the Smokies.  A poem by Voilet Lee, written in 1873 is a lovely poetic expession of another grist mill where her "darling" worked.

At the Old Mill

 

Radiant day is slowly fading,
And the evening calm and still,
Gazing through the oak and willow,
Stoops to kiss the ancient mill.

Listen to the damsel dancing
To the jig of feed and flour,
And the water-wheel revolving
With a dashing, constant power.

There is music in the rattle
Of the tinkling wheat that falls,
In the hopper, as the miller
Stops to heed the gristman’s calls.

Yes, I love this shaded building,
Love the flowing stream and flowers,
Love to hear the busy clatter
On the lingering summer hours.

More than all, I love the miller,
For his sake, I love the rest;
Of this world and its enchantments
I adore him the best.

Of these twilights I would weary
If his voice came not to cheer.
And this mill – life would grow dreary
If my darling was not here.

Violet Lee, 1873

Bella Vista Trail, Washington Oaks State Park

We hiked down the old historic A1A highway that cut across The Bella Vista Trail.  The trail leads you along a white-blazed Timucuan Loop through a shady maritime hammock of red bay, southern magnolia, and cabbage palms. The patchwork of habitats along this 1.8 mile loop, includes coastal scrub and the northernmost extent of mangroves along the fringe of the Matanzas River. There were a lot of colorful leaves that had fallen in December.  Florida's fall is typically in December when the new growth pushes the old leaves. Some trees still had brillant orange leaves.

Albert the Alligator Swamp Talk

The cigar-chomping Albert is as extroverted and garrulous as Pogo is modest and unassuming. Even though Albert has been known to take advantage of Pogo's generosity, he is ferociously loyal to Pogo and will, in quieter moments, be found scrubbing him in the tub or cutting his hair.

Looking for Pogo

Swamp at John P. Hall Nature Preserve on White Trail in Green Cove Springs.  This was the only interesting scene on the trail.  The trail consisted of mostly sparse pine trees and muddy in certain areas. Pogo and his friends would have liked the swamp.

When The Lamp is Shattered

When The Lamp Is Shattered

When the lamp is shattered,
The light in the dust lies dead;
When the cloud is scattered,
The rainbow's glory is shed;
When the lute is broken,
Sweet tones are remembered not;
When the lips have spoken,
Loved accents are soon forgot.

As music and splendor
Survive not the lamp and the lute,
The heart's echoes render
No song when the spirit is mute:--
No song but sad dirges,
Like the wind through a ruined cell,
Or the mournful surges
That ring the dead seaman's knell.

When hearts have once mingled,
Love first leaves the well-built nest;
The weak one is singled
To endure what it once possessed.
O Love! who bewailest
The frailty of all things here,
Why choose you the frailest
For your cradle, your home, and your bier?

Its passions will rock thee,
As the storms rock the ravens on high;
Bright reason will mock thee,
Like the sun from a wintry sky.
From thy nest every rafter
Will rot, and thine eagle home
Leave thee naked to laughter,
When leaves fall and cold winds come.

Percy Bysshe Shelley

The Light-Keeper

The Light-Keeper
by Robert Louis Stevenson

The brilliant kernel of the night,
The flaming lightroom circles me:
I sit within a blaze of light

Held high above the dusky sea.
Far off the surf doth break and roar
Along bleak miles of moonlit shore,

Where through the tides the tumbling wave
Falls in an avalanche of foam
And drives its churned waters home
Up many an undercliff and cave.

··· Robert Louis Stevenson 1850-1894 ···

A Faery Song

A Faery Song

i{Sung by the people of Faery over Diarmuid and Grania,}
i{in their bridal sleep under a Cromlech.}

WE who are old, old and gay,
O so old!
Thousands of years, thousands of years,
If all were told:
Give to these children, new from the world,
Silence and love;
And the long dew-dropping hours of the night,
And the stars above:
Give to these children, new from the world,
Rest far from men.
Is anything better, anything better?
Tell us it then:
Us who are old, old and gay,
O so old!
Thousands of years, thousands of years,
If all were told.

William Butler Yeats