Artisan Trail

The Artisan Trail at Princess Preserve starts along Pellicer Creek and winds through dense woods until you reach the springs.  There is a picnic table on the fishing pier and a kayak group from Marine land made the hike even more interesting watching inexperience people paddle their boats. If it were not so expensive, I would like to do the day long trip with Marine land tour because they get to see dolphins on their adventure.

"A Song to Myself: 35" by Walt Whitman

These pictures were taken at the Washington Oaks State Park and Beach.  It had been raining for 3 days and Matanzas River was high and winds were still strong. 

Song of Myself: 35

By Walt Whitman 1819–1892
 

Would you hear of an old-time sea-fight?

Would you learn who won by the light of the moon and stars?

List to the yarn, as my grandmother’s father the sailor told it to me.

 

Our foe was no skulk in his ship I tell you, (said he,)

His was the surly English pluck, and there is no tougher or truer, and never was, and never will be;

Along the lower’d eve he came horribly raking us.

 

We closed with him, the yards entangled, the cannon touch’d,

My captain lash’d fast with his own hands.

 

We had receiv’d some eighteen pound shots under the water,

On our lower-gun-deck two large pieces had burst at the first fire, killing all around and blowing up overhead.

 

Fighting at sun-down, fighting at dark,

Ten o’clock at night, the full moon well up, our leaks on the gain, and five feet of water reported,

The master-at-arms loosing the prisoners confined in the after-hold to give them a chance for themselves.

 

The transit to and from the magazine is now stopt by the sentinels,

They see so many strange faces they do not know whom to trust.

 

Our frigate takes fire,

The other asks if we demand quarter?

If our colors are struck and the fighting done?

 

Now I laugh content, for I hear the voice of my little captain,

We have not struck, he composedly cries, we have just begun our part of the fighting.

 

Only three guns are in use,

One is directed by the captain himself against the enemy’s mainmast,

Two well serv’d with grape and canister silence his musketry and clear his decks.

 

The tops alone second the fire of this little battery, especially the main-top,

They hold out bravely during the whole of the action.

 

Not a moment’s cease,

The leaks gain fast on the pumps, the fire eats toward the powder-magazine.

 

One of the pumps has been shot away, it is generally thought we are sinking.

 

Serene stands the little captain,

He is not hurried, his voice is neither high nor low,

His eyes give more light to us than our battle-lanterns.

 

Toward twelve there in the beams of the moon they surrender to us.

 

Fort Clinch - An Old Historic Military Post

The fort was named for General Duncan Lamont Clinch, a prominent figure in the Second Seminole War in Florida.  The construction of the fort started in 1867 and is built at the mouth of the St. Mary's River to protect the port of Fernandina.  The fort served as a military post during the Civil War, Spanish-American war and World War II.

 

 

Battle Hymn of the Republic
by Julia Ward Howe

Chorus:
Glory, Glory Hallelujah, Glory, Glory Hallelujah,
Glory, Glory Hallelujah, His truth is marching on.

Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord;
He is trampling out the vintage where grapes of wrath are stored;
he hath loosed the fateful lightning of His terrible swift sword,
His truth is marching on. (Chorus)

I have seen Him in the watch fires of a hundred circling camps;
They have built Him an altar in the evening dews and damps;
I can read His righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps,
His day is marching on. (Chorus)

He has founded forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat;
He is sifting out the hearts of men before His Judgement Seat'
Oh! Be swift, my soul, to answer Him, be jubilant, my feet!
Our God is marching on. (Chorus)

In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea,
With a glory in his bosom that transfigures you and me;
As he died to make men holy, let us die to make men free,
While God is marching on. (Chorus) 

 

 

The author of the magnificent "Battle-Hymn of the Republic" was born in New York in 1819, a daughter of the banker Samuel Ward. In 1843 she married Dr. S. G. Howe, best known as the head of Perkins Institute for the Blind. She assisted him in editing his anti-slavery journal, the Boston Commonwealth. In 1861, at the time of this picture, she made her first trip to Washington, where her husband became interested in the work of the Sanitary Commission. During the visit the party was invited to a military review in the Virginia camps. On the way back she and the others in the carriage sang "John Brown's Body" to the applause of the soldiers by the roadside. Her pastor, who was in the party, words for the tune. That night the inspiration came; she wrote the best known of her poems and one of the finest products of the whole Civil War period. Her later life was devoted largely to the cause of woman suffrage. She died at Newport, October 17, 1910.

The Dalliance of the Eagles

The Road of the Eagles

 

This is the road that leads to several Eagle nests in Princess Preserve Park of Flagler County.  I saw several young eagles but I did not see any large birds.  I have visited the Eagle site several times and still have not been fortunate to see the larger adults.

Walt Whitman had never seen the bald eagle's courtship ritual called cartwheeling.  He wrote "The Dalliance of the Eagles" based on the description a friend had given him of this extraordinary display. In the poem "The Dalliance of the Eagles" he had a deeper meaning then the courtship of eagles.  It symbolizes that as humans, we are courting with death for the thrill of being and the joy of living. Most of us want something that safe living does not provide. We all want to cartwheel through life uncertain if this will be our very last moment. It gives us living in this moment. It does not mean we should go out and live dangerously, but look deeper to find that which is our deepest longing. Then chase it passionately.


THE DALLIANCE OF THE EAGLES
by Walt Whitman 1880

Skirting the river road, (my forenoon walk, my rest,)
Skyward in the air a sudden muffled sound, the dalliance of the eagles,
The rushing amorous contact high in space together,
The clinching interlocking claws, a living, fierce, gyrating wheel,
Four beating wings, two beaks, a swirling mass tight grappling,
In tumbling turning clustering loops, straight downward falling,
Till o'er the river pois'd, the twain yet one, a moment's lull,
A motionless still balance in the air, then parting, talons loosing,
Upward again on slow-firm pinions slanting, their separate diverse flight,
She hers, he his, pursuing.



Whitman is regarded as one of America’s most significant nineteenth century poets. Born on Long Island, Whitman grew up in Brooklyn and received limited formal education. His occupations during his lifetime included printer, schoolteacher, reporter, and editor.  Whitman’s self-published Leaves of Grass was inspired in part by his travels through the American frontier. As the first writer of truly American poetry, Whitman’s legacy endures and he has influenced many poets of the twentieth century.

Daisy by Francis Thompson

Featuring Poet Francis Thompson (1859-1907) 



Francis Thompson was educated at Owen's College, Manchester. Later he tried all manner of strange ways of earning a living. He was, at various times, assistant in a boot-shop, medical student, collector for a book seller and homeless vagabond; there was a period in his life when he sold matches on the streets of London. He was discovered in terrible poverty (having given up everything except poetry and opium) by the editor of a magazine to which he had sent some verses the year before. Almost immediately thereafter he became famous. His exalted mysticism is seen at its purest in "A Fallen Yew" and "The Hound of Heaven." Coventry Patmore, the distinguished poet of an earlier period, says of the latter poem, which is unfortunately too long to quote, "It is one of the very few great odes of which our language can boast."   Thompson died, after a fragile and spasmodic life, in St. John's Wood in November, 1907. Among Thompson's devotees was the young J.R.R. Tolkien, who purchased a volume of Thompson's works in 1913-1914, and later said that it was an important influence on his own writing.
 

Daisy

 WHERE the thistle lifts a purple crown   
    Six foot out of the turf,             
And the harebell shakes on the windy hill—        
    O breath of the distant surf!—              
              
The hills look over on the South,                      
    And southward dreams the sea;           
And with the sea-breeze hand in hand 
    Came innocence and she.        
               
Where 'mid the gorse the raspberry      
    Red for the gatherer springs;   
Two children did we stray and talk          
    Wise, idle, childish things.        
               
She listened with big-lipped surprise,    
    Breast-deep 'mid flower and spine:     
Her skin was like a grape whose veins     
    Run snow instead of wine.      
               
She knew not those sweet words she spake,     
    Nor knew her own sweet way;              
But there's never a bird, so sweet a song              
    Thronged in whose throat all day.         
               
Oh, there were flowers in Storrington   
    On the turf and on the spray; 
But the sweetest flower on Sussex hills
    Was the Daisy-flower that day!             
               
Her beauty smoothed earth's furrowed face.      
    She gave me tokens three:— 
A look, a word of her winsome mouth, 
    And a wild raspberry. 
               
A berry red, a guileless look,      
    A still word,—strings of sand!  
And yet they made my wild, wild heart 
    Fly down to her little hand.      
               
For standing artless as the air,   
    And candid as the skies,            
She took the berries with her hand,         
    And the love with her sweet eyes.      
               
The fairest things have fleetest end,      
    Their scent survives their close:             
But the rose's scent is bitterness             
    To him that loved the rose.     
               
She looked a little wistfully,        
    Then went her sunshine way—             
The sea's eye had a mist on it,   
    And the leaves fell from the day.          
               
She went her unremembering way,       
    She went and left in me            
The pang of all he partings gone,             
    And partings yet to be.              
               
She left me marvelling why my soul       
    Was sad that she was glad;       
At all the sadness in the sweet, 
    The sweetness in the sad.       
               
Still, still I seemed to see her, still            
    Look up with soft replies,         
And take the berries with her hand,         
    And the love with her lovely eyes.       

Nothing begins, and nothing ends,         
    That is not paid with moan,     
For we are born in other's pain, 
    And perish in our own.             

Driftwood Feelin'

 

The observation deck at Bulow Creek Trail had driftwood standing in the marsh in close proximity. I was more interested in the driftwood then anything else I saw at the marsh.  There were not very many birds in the marsh or other wildlife. Driftwood feelin' is a poem by native American Henry Real Bird.  A Creek Indian who is  a cowboy poet who can "twist language like a river."  I have a link to his poem for further reading.

Driftwood Feelin'
by Henry Real Bird
(Poem Excerpts)

"How much longer
Do you want
To be in the wind
Elk River's edge
There I am standin'
Lookin' for a feelin'
In the roar of the water
Come down river lookin' around
Feelin' gotta roam.

Driftwood feelin'
Floatin' down love river
Hearts way can't do
I'm catchin' a ride
Driftwood feelin'
Floatin’ down love river
Hearts way can't do
I'm catchin' a ride
Floatin' down love river."
 http://www.worldofpoetry.org/usop/land1.htm
 

Floating Down Stream The Lady of Shalott

 

I named the leaf "Lady of Shalott" as it drifted down stream to a tropical Camelot of palm trees, flowering shrubs, ancient oaks and hammocks. The water glisten with sunlight and the bright green leaf is framed by darker leaves at the bottom of the water. The creek reflects all its surroundings like a magic mirror. The green leaf is beautifully framed by the sunrays penetrating the water.  "The leaves upon her falling light..." on The Lady of Shalott as...She floated down to Camelot."

Painting by John William Waterhouse's The Lady of Shalott, 1888

The Lady of Shalott is a magical being who lives alone on an island upstream from King Arthur's Camelot. Her business is to look at the world outside her castle window in a mirror, and to weave what she sees into a tapestry. She is forbidden by the magic to look at the outside world directly.  One day, she sees the reflection of Sir Lancelot riding alone. Although she knows that it is forbidden, she looks out the window at him. The mirror shatters, the tapestry flies off on the wind, and the Lady feels the power of her curse. An autumn storm suddenly arises. The lady leaves her castle, finds a boat, writes her name on it, gets into the boat, sets it adrift, and sings her death song as she drifts down the river to Camelot. The locals find the boat and the body, realize who she is, and are saddened. Lancelot prays that God will have mercy on her soul.

The Lady of Shalott

Extract from the poem:
In the stormy east-wind straining,
The pale yellow woods were waning,
The broad stream in his banks complaining.

Heavily the low sky raining
Over tower'd Camelot;
Down she came and found a boat
Beneath a willow left afloat,
And around about the prow she wrote
The Lady of Shalott.

And down the river's dim expanse
Like some bold seer in a trance,
Seeing all his own mischance --
With a glassy countenance
Did she look to Camelot.

And at the closing of the day
She loosed the chain, and down she lay;
The broad stream bore her far away,
The Lady of Shalott.

Lying, robed in snowy white
That loosely flew to left and right --
The leaves upon her falling light --
Thro' the noises of the night,
She floated down to Camelot
And as the boat-head wound along
The willowy hills and fields among,
They heard her singing her last song,
The Lady of Shalott.

Heard a carol, mournful, holy,
Chanted loudly, chanted lowly,
Till her blood was frozen slowly,
And her eyes were darkened wholly,
Turn'd to tower'd Camelot.

For ere she reach'd upon the tide
The first house by the water-side,
Singing in her song she died,
The Lady of Shalott.

by Alfred Lord Tennyson

Marshview Lane

 

 Marshview Lane Trail is my favorite hiking trail at Guana River.  It crosses a freshwater marsh and has a large variety of grasses, wildflowers, trees, and reptiles.  A long deck was part of the trail to help cross the marsh.

The Violet Sky of Tolomato River

 

Colorado is not the only place where there are "Purple Skies of Majesty."  These pictures where taken at the South Point Loop Trail of the Guana/Tolomato/Matanzas National Reserve. Everyone thinks the sky is blue but the sky is really violet! It is actually violet but the sky appears blue due to the limitations of our eyes.  Our sensitivity to light decreases as we reach the shortest wavelengths of the visible spectrum.  The violet is there, but our eyes detect it only weakly.  What we see is blue--present in large quantities and easily detected by our eyes.  We really do have purple skies of majesty in Florida!  I would love to get a picture of the moon under a dark violet sky.
One of my favorite groups is Blackmores Night.  They have a song I really enjoy "Under a Violet Moon" that has a medieval theme of knights, enchanted woods, Tudor Rose and stealing a kiss under a violet moon.

Under a Violet Moon

 

Dancing to the feel of the drum
Leave this world behind
We'll have a drink and toast to ourselves
Under a Violet Moon
Tudor Rose with her hair in curls
Will make you turn and stare
Try to steal a kiss at the bridge
Under a Violet Moon
Raise your hats and your glasses too
We will dance the whole night through
We're going back to a time we knew
Under a Violet Moon
Cheers to the Knights and days of old
the beggars and the thieves
living in an enchanted wood
Under a Violet Moon
Fortuneteller what do you see
Future in a card
Share your secrets, tell them to me
Under a Violet Moon
Close your eyes and lose yourself
In a medieval mood
Taste the treasures and sing the tunes
Under a Violet Moon
Tis my delight on a shiny night
The season of the year
To keep the lanterns burning bright
Under a Violet Moon

Diego Pond - A Great Birding Trail

I hiked 5 miles round trip to Diego Pond at Guana River Wildlife Management Area.  The pond is known for the vast number of bird species that live in the area as well as migratory birds. The hike consisted of several trails until I reached Diego Road.  The trails consisted of a diverse scenery of maritime hammocks, swamp, salt marshes and a dense forest to reach the pond. Florida is considered to be a birder's and wildlife watcher's paradise because of the migration routes and sub-tropical temperatures. There are over 500 bird species that can be spotted in Florida which makes Florida the number one wildlife viewing destination in North America.  Wings over Florida Program is something I may consider.  Guana River Wildlife area is part of the Great Birding Trails.  I plan to get my birding expertise up-to-snuff so I can take pictures of these fabulous birds such as the Roseate Spoonbill



I saw Great Egrets, Wood Storks, Ospreys, and Great Horned Owls, but no pink Spoonbills yet.  I am on a quest to get pictures of this beautiful bird.  Above image is from Wikipedia.

The Enchanted River at Mirkwood Forest

 

Crisco Bridge

 

It is a 3 mile hike on the Bulow Creek Loop down a forest path to Cisco Bridge. The forest path is filled with large oak trees, thick undergrowth, and wet marsh.  Oak trees branches can take very unusual shapes through the years as they grow, they stretch and twist reaching for sunlight.  These branches stretched across the trail and help to shade the sun.

 

At Cisco Bridge, the water was murky and dark with large oak branches hanging over the creek.  It was so dark that the water was reflecting the palm leaves and branches like a mirror.  The Bulow Creek Trail is reminiscent of old Florida.  Giant oak trees, hundreds of years old, have been standing since the discovery of America by Christopher Columbus.  The park is an ancient historical area of a plantation ruins and sugar mill where all the surrounding forest was left to grow in its natural habitat.  I wonder how did the Spaniards cross the land with such dense undergrowth and foliage.  The sunlight rays that passed through the thick foliage sparkled on the creek like spotlights.  The rays look like they were floating down the creek with the current. It was enchanting to see all the images in the water, sun rays dancing, green mirrors of palms, leaves at the bottom and small fish swimming in circles.  It was an enchanting looking glass.

I loved Lord of the Rings and recently watched all three movies again.  Through the years, it has been my movie triology of choice, particularly if I am attached to my sick bed for several days. Bulow Creek, its forest and ancient oak trees are similar to the images used by J.R.R. Tolkien in Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit. 

Thorin Oaksenshield and Company in Mirkwood Forest hiking the forest path to the Enchanted River.

Bilbo Baggins, along with Thorin Oakenshield and his band of dwarves, ventured into Mirkwood during their quest to regain the Lonely Mountain or Erebor from the dragon Smaug. There, the Dwarf Bombur fell into the Enchanted river.
The Enchanted river is a black river in Mirkwood, that flows north from its source in the Mountains of Mirkwood, until it joined the Forest River. It had fast and strong currents but was not too wide at least in the area near the Forest Path where Thorin and Company crossed it. The river's enchantment made it so that anyone who drank or bathed in the water fell into a deep sleep and when they finally awoke, could not remember anything for a long period of time. If I fell into Bulow Creek, I would be like the dwarf Bomfur and fall under its enchantment and into a deep sleep. Of course, that would be after I get home and dried off!

Trail Through "Mirkwood Forest"

 The White Trial at Guana River Park 

 

The trail pictures above are from the White Trail at Guana River. I could not help but compare the dense forest to the Mirkwood Forest in Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit.  Several artists' images of Mirkwood look very similar to the forest and landscape of the White Trail. Tree limbs were twisted and crossed over the trail like giant spider webs.  We hiked 5 miles round trip through dense forest to get to Diego Pond.  We were stopped at the south entrance due to the marsh land was too wet to cross due to so much rainfall. 

 

Images of Mirkwood Forest:

  

Excerpts from The Hobbit:

  "The entrance to the [forest-]path was like a sort of arch leading in to a gloomy tunnel made by two great trees that leant together, too old and strangled with ivy to bear more than a few blackened leaves. The path itself was narrow and wound in and out among the trunks. Soon the light at the gate was like a little bright hole far behind, and the quiet was so deep that their feet seemed to thump along while all the trees leaned over them and listened.      

    As their eyes became used to the dimness they could see a little way to either side in a sort of darkened green glimmer. Occasionally a slender beam of sun that had the luck to slip in through some opening in the leaves far above, and still more luck in not being caught in the tangled boughs and matted twigs beneath, stabbed down thin and bright before them. But this was seldom, and it soon ceased altogether. [...]

    But they had to go on and on, long after they were sick for the sight of the sun and of the sky, and longed for the feel of wind on their faces. There was no movement of air down under the forest-roof, and it was everlastingly still and dark and stuffy. [...] the hobbit [...] felt that he was being slowly suffocated."