Ranch in Huron-Manistee Forest

Hotz Brucke -- Frankenmuth Covered Bridge

Looking Glass River

Looking Glass River

By Robert Louis Stevenson

Smooth it glides upon its travel, 
Here a wimple, there a gleam-- 
O the clean gravel! 
O the smooth stream! 

Sailing blossoms, silver fishes, 
Pave pools as clear as air-- 
How a child wishes 
To live down there! 

We can see our colored faces 
Floating on the shaken pool 
Down in cool places, 
Dim and very cool; 

Till a wind or water wrinkle, 
Dipping marten, plumping trout, 
Spreads in a twinkle 
And blots all out. 

See the rings pursue each other; 
All below grows black as night, 
Just as if mother 
Had blown out the light! 

Patience, children, just a minute-- 
See the spreading circles die; 
The stream and all in it 
Will clear by-and-by.

My River Runs to Thee

My River Runs to Thee

by Emily Dickinson

My River runs to thee--

Blue Seal!  Wilt welcome me?

My River wait reply--

Oh Sea--look graciously--

I'll fetch thee Brooks--

From spotted nooks--

Say--Sea--Take Me!

Lake Huron - "I Will Wade Out"

I Will Wade Out

By E,E, Cummings


i will wade out
                    till my thighs are steeped in burning flowers
I will take the sun in my mouth
and leap into the ripe air
                                  Alive
                                          with closed eyes
to dash against darkness
                                in the sleeping curves of my body
Shall enter fingers of smooth mastery
with chasteness of sea-girls
                                       Will i complete the mystery
                                        of my flesh
I will rise
              After a thousand years
lipping
flowers
           And set my teeth in the silver of the moon

Feeling without Thinking - Mack Lake

 



"A poet is somebody who feels, and who expresses his feeling through words.  This may sound easy.  It isn't.  A lot of people think or believe or know they feel-but that's thinking or believing or knowing; not feeling.  And poetry is feeling-not knowing or believing or thinking."
-E.E. Cummings

Frankenmuth Lager Mill

"Beside the Still Waters"

The Lord is My Shepherd

A Psalm of David (Psalm 23)

The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.

He maketh me to lie down in green pastures.  He leadeth me beside the still waters.

He restoreth my soul.  He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake.

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.

Thou prepares a table before me in the presence of mine enemies;  thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.

"There Is Another Sky"

There is another Sky

by Emily Dickinson

There is another sky,

Ever serene and fair,

And there is another sunshine,

Though it be darkness there;

Never mind faded forests, Austin,

Never mind silent fields -

Here is a little forest,

Whose leaf is ever green;

Here is a brighter garden,

Where not a frost has been;

In its unfading flowers

I hear the bright bee hum:

Prithee, my brother,

Into my garden come!

"A Cloud Withdrew From the Sky"

A Cloud Withdrew from the Sky


A Cloud withdrew from the Sky
Superior Glory be
But that Cloud and its Auxiliaries
Are forever lost to me

Had I but further scanned
Had I secured the Glow
In an Hermetic Memory
It had availed me now.

Never to pass the Angel
With a glance and a Bow
Till I am firm in Heaven
Is my intention now.                         

By Emily Dickinson

"Love Is Just A Cloudy Sky"

 
Cloudy Sky


The Moon she is a pretty girl who lives up in the stars
And that old cloud he's a great old man who loves her from afar
He loves her from afar
When Lady Moon smiles down on him ol' Cloud is all a-wonder
So he starts to sing to her and that's what makes the thunder
Can't ya listen baby that's what makes the thunder
Love is just a cloudy sky as far as I can see
And that ol' cloud up in the sky he got much chance in love as me
And some dry nights she won't come out when she hears him callin'
The tears come streamin' on down his cheeks and that's the rain a fallin'
Don't ya feel it baby hat's the rain a fallin'
Love is just a cloudy sky as far as I can see
And that ol' cloud up in the sky's got as much a chance in love as me
And when the night starts to gettin' light and he can see her goin'
He throws a kiss across the sky and that's the wind a blowin',
Can't ya feel it honey that's the wind a blowin'
Oh love is just a cloudy sky as far as I can see
And that ol' cloud up in the sky he's got as much a chance as me
He got as much a chance as me 
Poem by Shel Silverstein

Pellicer Creek Dock

 
The bottom picture is the view from the dock at Pellicer Creek.  It had started to rain so there was no sitting at the dock for wildlife watching.  There were thunder storms last evening so the dirt road was filled with mud puddles.  It was quiet with no tourist.

Clouds Floating in the Water

Clouds came down to Earth today.  The waters of Pellicer Creek was a reflection of the dark cloudy sky.  If it were not for the greenery against the background, one would not know where the sky was, looking up or looking down.  Clouds floated in the water and moved with the wind.  As Alice Through the Looking Glass, the world can be upside down.

Buena Suerte Plantation - Once Upon A Time

 

Faver Dykes State Park was originally part of the Buena Suerte Plantation granted in 1817 by Spain to General Joseph Hernandez.  During the second Seminole War, the area was occupied by U.S. Troops.  A lot of Florida history dwells here.

Trees by the pond



There was an Old Man in a tree,
Who was horribly bored by a Bee;
When they said, "Does it buzz?" he replied, "Yes, it does!
It's a regular brute of a Bee."

by Edward Lear

A Book of Nonsense (1846)

"A Thing Of Beauty is A Joy Forever"

 

from Endymion

(Excerpt) By John Keats 

BOOK I
A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:
Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.
Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing
A flowery band to bind us to the earth,
Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth
Of noble natures, of the gloomy days,
Of all the unhealthy and o'er-darkened ways
Made for our searching: yes, in spite of all,
Some shape of beauty moves away the pall
From our dark spirits. Such the sun, the moon,
Trees old and young, sprouting a shady boon
For simple sheep; and such are daffodils
With the green world they live in; and clear rills
That for themselves a cooling covert make
'Gainst the hot season; the mid forest brake,
Rich with a sprinkling of fair musk-rose blooms:
And such too is the grandeur of the dooms
We have imagined for the mighty dead;
All lovely tales that we have heard or read:
An endless fountain of immortal drink,
Pouring unto us from the heaven's brink.
       Nor do we merely feel these essences
For one short hour; no, even as the trees
That whisper round a temple become soon
Dear as the temple's self, so does the moon,
The passion poesy, glories infinite,
Haunt us till they become a cheering light
Unto our souls, and bound to us so fast,
That, whether there be shine, or gloom o'ercast;
They always must be with us, or we die.
       Therefore, 'tis with full happiness that I
Will trace the story of Endymion.
The very music of the name has gone
Into my being, and each pleasant scene
Is growing fresh before me as the green
Of our own valleys: so I will begin
Now while I cannot hear the city's din;
Now while the early budders are just new,
And run in mazes of the youngest hue
About old forests; while the willow trails
Its delicate amber; and the dairy pails
Bring home increase of milk. And, as the year
Grows lush in juicy stalks, I'll smoothly steer
My little boat, for many quiet hours,
With streams that deepen freshly into bowers.
Many and many a verse I hope to write,
Before the daisies, vermeil rimm'd and white,
Hide in deep herbage; and ere yet the bees
Hum about globes of clover and sweet peas,
I must be near the middle of my story.
O may no wintry season, bare and hoary,
See it half finish'd: but let Autumn bold,
With universal tinge of sober gold,
Be all about me when I make an end.
And now, at once adventuresome, I send
My herald thought into a wilderness:
There let its trumpet blow, and quickly dress
My uncertain path with green, that I may speed
Easily onward, thorough flowers and weed.

Meadowlark Trail

Beloved

by Francis Ledwidge

Nothing but sweet music wakes
My Beloved, my Beloved.
Sleeping by the blue lakes,
My own Beloved!

Song of lark and song of thrush,
My Beloved! my Beloved!
Sing in morning's rosy bush,
My own Beloved!

When your eyes dawn blue and clear,
My Beloved! my Beloved!
You will find me waiting here,
My own Beloved!

Francis Edward Ledwidge was an Irish war poet from County Meath. Sometimes known as the "poet of the blackbirds", he was killed in action at the Battle of Passchendaele during World War I.

The Heart of the Wood

Nestled in the foothills of the Appalachian, Callaway Gardens Wedding Chapel is quant and peaceful.  It is a lovely location for a small wedding.

The Heart of the Wood

An old anonymous poem translated from Gaelic.

My hope and my love,

We will go for a while into the wood,

scattering the dew,

where we will see the trout,

we will see the blackbird on its nest;

the deer and the buck calling,

the little bird that is sweetest singing on the branches;

the cuckoo on the top of the fresh green;

and death will never come near us for ever in the sweet wood.

Gentle Water Bird

The Gentle Water Bird

In the far days, when every day was long,
Fear was upon me and the fear was strong,
Ere I had learned the recompense of song.

In the dim days I trembled, for I knew
God was above me, always frowning through,
And God was terrible and thunder-blue.

Creeds the discoloured awed my opening mind,
Perils, perplexities - what could I find? -
All the old terror waiting on mankind.

Even the gentle flowers of white and cream,
The rainbow with its treasury of dream,
Trembled because of God's ungracious scheme.

And in the night the many stars would say
Dark things unaltered in the light of day:
Fear was upon me even in my play.

There was a lake I loved in gentle rain:
One day there fell a bird, a courtly crane:
Wisely he walked, as one who knows of pain.

Gracious he was and lofty as a king:
Silent he was, and yet he seemed to sing
Always of little children and the Spring.

God? Did he know him? It was far he flew?.
God was not terrible and thunder-blue:
- It was a gentle water bird I knew.

Pity was in him for the weak and strong,
All who have suffered when the days were long
And he was deep and gentle as a song.

As a calm soldier in a cloak of grey
He did commune with me for many a day
Till the dark fear was lifted far away.

Sober-apparelled, yet he caught the glow:
Always of Heaven would he speak, and low,
And he did tell me where the wishes go.

Kinsfolk of his it was who long before
Came from the mist (and no one knows the shore)
Came with the little children to the door.

Was he less wise than those birds long ago
Who flew from God (He surely willed it so)
Bearing great happiness to all below?

Long have I learned that all his speech was true;
I cannot reason it - how far he flew -
God is not terrible nor thunder-blue.

Sometimes, when watching in the white sunshine,
Someone approaches - I can half define
All the calm beauty of that friend of mine.

Nothing of hatred will about him cling:
Silent - how silent - but his heart will sing
Always of little children and the Spring.

                        
By John Shaw Neilson

(February 22, 1872 - May 12, 1942 South Australia)