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

Georgia's Little Grand Canyon

Georgia’s “Little Grand Canyon” is a result of massive gullies as deep as 150 feet caused simply by poor farming practices during the 1800s, yet today they make some of the prettiest photographs within the state. The canyon soil’s pink, orange, red and purple hues make a beautiful natural painting at this quiet park.

White Trail at Providence Canyon

 

During Thanksgiving Holidays, I took a hike at Providence Canyon.  White trail was 2 1/2 miles and circle around the canyon.  Leaves had started to fall and left a brillant trail of red and orange colors. 

"From Dewy Dreams, My Soul, Arise"

From Dewy Dreams

From dewy dreams, my soul, arise,
From love's deep slumber and from death,
For lo! the treees are full of sighs
Whose leaves the morn admonisheth.

Eastward the gradual dawn prevails
Where softly-burning fires appear,
Making to tremble all those veils
Of grey and golden gossamer.

While sweetly, gently, secretly,
The flowery bells of morn are stirred
And the wise choirs of faery
Begin (innumerous!) to be heard.

By James Joyce

Fountain of Youth in Florida

The Fountain of Youth is a legendary spring that reputedly restores the youth of anyone who drinks of its waters. Tales of such a fountain have been recounted across the world for thousands of years, appearing in writings by Herodotus, the Alexander romance, and the stories of Prester John.  The legend became particularly prominent in the 16th century, when it became attached to the Spanish explorer Juan Ponce de León, first Governor of Puerto Rico. Ponce de León was searching for the Fountain of Youth when he traveled to what is now Florida in 1513. Since then, the fountain has been frequently associated with Florida In St. Augustine. This ancient water fountain is located at Princess Preserve outside of St. Augustine.

"If Covered Bridges Could Talk"

"What stories could these bridges tell
If they could only talk?
They'd tell us of the ones who rode
And those who had to walk,
The rich, the poor....those in-between
Who used their planks to cross,
The soldiers, farmers, businessmen
In buggies, sleighs, by "hoss",
Like sentinels these bridges stand
In spite of flood and fire,
Their rugged, stalwart strength remains
Our future to inspire."

 

Untitled, Author unknown

Wetland Grass

 

Some of the different types of grass in the marsh.  There is so much of it but no bugs bothered me! Many different shades of green and brown.

Butterfly Warrior Wings

 

There is nothing unique about the appearance of this small butterfly except she was battled scarred and alone deep in the marsh.  Her wings were torn from wear and tear among the bushes and you knew she will soon be on her last flight. She has bravely survived the harsh elements of Hurricane Sandy's winds and rain and now the heat beating down on her delicate wings. A brave little butterfly hanging on. Only I could feel sorry for an insect!

Swamp Palm Tree

 

I really like how the Palm Tree curved its trunk to reach the sunrays from the swamp. How did the spanish explorers walk through this muddy, swampy ground to setup a colony?

Spanish Moss Covered Ground

Spanish moss covered the ground throughout the woods on Hominy Branch Trail.  It really looked like dirty cotton balls everywhere.  It has such an unusual appearance. I like the way the morning sun created shadows of the trees falling across the moss.

Sand, Mud Holes and Swamp

Took a 3.5 mile hike down Hominy Branch Trail at Princess Place Preserve. I walked on bridges that crossed over a swamp until reaching a long trail of white sand.  Sand is more difficult to walk on then walking on  a normal mountain trail.  Your shoes sink into the sand and you have to make extra effort to pulled your feet out of the sinking footprints. The sun starting beating down on my head and the white sand reflected the heat. It was a whammy of double heat! After the sand, then it was wet marshland and the trail became muddy.  Mud is also a challenge to pull your shoes out of of sinking mud holes.  Of  course the horses left their evidence in the mud and you had to be careful where you stepped in the mud! The mud really weighs down your feet and legs. The trail was a challenge in the hot Florida climate.

'Eleonora' - A River of Silence

“From the dim regions beyond the mountains at the upper end of our encircled domain, there crept out a narrow and deep river, brighter than all save the eyes of Eleonora; and, winding stealthily about in mazy courses, it passed away, at length, through a shadowy gorge, among hills still dimmer than those whence it had issued. We called it the "River of Silence"; for there seemed to be a hushing influence in its flow. No murmur arose from its bed, and so gently it wandered along, that the pearly pebbles upon which we loved to gaze, far down within its bosom, stirred not at all, but lay in a motionless content, each in its own old station, shining on gloriously forever.”
― Edgar Allan Poe, Eleonora