Pikes Peak

Pikes Peak
"Spacious Skies"

Thursday, April 30, 2015

Deep Into the Woods Amicalola Falls


Under The Waterfall
'Whenever I plunge my arm, like this,
In a basin of water, I never miss
The sweet sharp sense of a fugitive day
Fetched back from its thickening shroud of gray.
Hence the only prime
And real love-rhyme
That I know by heart,
And that leaves no smart,
Is the purl of a little valley fall
About three spans wide and two spans tall 
Over a table of solid rock,
And into a scoop of the self-same block;
The purl of a runlet that never ceases
In stir of kingdoms, in wars, in peaces;
With a hollow boiling voice it speaks 
And has spoken since hills were turfless peaks.'

'And why gives this the only prime
Idea to you of a real love-rhyme?
And why does plunging your arm in a bowl
Full of spring water, bring throbs to your soul?'

'Well, under the fall, in a crease of the stone,
Though precisely where none ever has known,
Jammed darkly, nothing to show how prized,
And by now with its smoothness opalized,
Is a grinking glass:
For, down that pass
My lover and I
Walked under a sky
Of blue with a leaf-wove awning of green,
In the burn of August, to paint the scene, 
And we placed our basket of fruit and wine
By the runlet's rim, where we sat to dine;
And when we had drunk from the glass together,
Arched by the oak-copse from the weather,
I held the vessel to rinse in the fall,
Where it slipped, and it sank, and was past recall,
Though we stooped and plumbed the little abyss
With long bared arms. There the glass still is.
And, as said, if I thrust my arm below
Cold water in a basin or bowl, a throe
From the past awakens a sense of that time,
And the glass we used, and the cascade's rhyme.
The basin seems the pool, and its edge
The hard smooth face of the brook-side ledge,
And the leafy pattern of china-ware
The hanging plants that were bathing there.

'By night, by day, when it shines or lours,
There lies intact that chalice of ours, 
And its presence adds to the rhyme of love
Persistently sung by the fall above.
No lip has touched it since his and mine
In turns therefrom sipped lovers' wine.'

By Thomas Hardy

Opunake Surf Shades of Blue

The coast line of Opunake is vastly different from the white sandy beaches of Florida.  Rocky shoreline with many varieties of tall grass.  The backdrop of many shades of blue is a painter's canvas.

Reflections of Trees

Not a single tree is perfect in these photos.  They all have grown crooked or have curved branches growing toward sunlight but yet they are each beautiful.  Their graceful limbs reaching out to the light are reflected in the water.   It is their imperfection that makes them so unique and picture perfect for me.

Acquainted with the Thundering Sky

A walk at dusk when thunder clouds are gathering against the evening sky.  I have come acquainted with these clouds that covers the sky with its layers of dark mass.  Hiding the blue horizon and smothering the sun.  
Acquainted with the Night
By Robert Frost
I have been one acquainted with the night.
I have walked out in rainand back in rain.
I have outwalked the furthest city light.
I have looked down the saddest city lane.
I have passed by the watchman on his beat
And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.
I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet
When far away an interrupted cry
Came over houses from another street,
But not to call me back or say good-bye;
And further still at an unearthly height,
One luminary clock against the sky
Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right. 
I have been one acquainted with the night.

Where Sleepless Waters Flow

What does one do when they cannot have a restful night and sleep does not come.  This person turns toward nature sounds and looks at photos of a mountain creek.  I close my eyes and imagine hearing the rushing waters breaking over the rocks. The rhythmic sounds of flowing waters is better then counting sheep.

To The River Charles

River! that in silence windest
Through the meadows, bright and free,
Till at length thy rest thou findest
In the bosom of the sea!

Four long years of mingled feeling,
Half in rest, and half in strife,
I have seen thy waters stealing
Onward, like the stream of life.

Thou hast taught me, Silent River!
Many a lesson, deep and long;
Thou hast been a generous giver;
I can give thee but a song.

Oft in sadness and in illness,
I have watched thy current glide,
Till the beauty of its stillness
Overflowed me, like a tide.

And in better hours and brighter,
When I saw thy waters gleam,
I have felt my heart beat lighter,
And leap onward with thy stream.

Not for this alone I love thee,
Nor because thy waves of blue
From celestial seas above thee
Take their own celestial hue.

Where yon shadowy woodlands hide thee,
And thy waters disappear,
Friends I love have dwelt beside thee,
And have made thy margin dear.

More than this;--thy name reminds me
Of three friends, all true and tried;
And that name, like magic, binds me
Closer, closer to thy side.

Friends my soul with joy remembers!
How like quivering flames they start,
When I fan the living embers
On the hearth-stone of my heart!

'T is for this, thou Silent River!
That my spirit leans to thee;
Thou hast been a generous giver,
Take this idle song from me.

Saturday, April 18, 2015

Aslan Shakes his Mane

These are photos of early spring at the Azalea Garden Overlook in Callaway Gardens.  The entire garden is so manicured that it was nice to see one rustic crooked bird house in the mist of such gorgeous flowers.  The golden colors made me think of Aslan in Narnia.  I love the image of the lantern shining against the snow in Narnia.  This is a quote from C. S. Lewis, The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. When Aslan "shakes his mane, we shall have spring again."

"Wrong will be right, when Aslan comes in sight,
At the sound of his roar, sorrows will be no more,
When he bares his teeth, winter meets its death,
And when he shakes his mane, we shall have spring again."

Image result for Narnia

To A Butterfly

These were a few of the butterflies at the Cecil B. Day Butterfly Center.  There were not as many as usual so I did not get photos of  a large variety of butterflies.   I am not sure why the population was so low in early spring when I visited.

To A Butterfly

By William Wordsworth (1770 - 1850)

STAY near me---do not take thy flight!
A little longer stay in sight!
Much converse do I find I thee,
Historian of my infancy !
Float near me; do not yet depart!
Dead times revive in thee:
Thou bring'st, gay creature as thou art!
A solemn image to my heart,
My father's family!

Oh! pleasant, pleasant were the days,
The time, when, in our childish plays,
My sister Emmeline and I
Together chased the butterfly!
A very hunter did I rush
Upon the prey:---with leaps and spring
I followed on from brake to bush;
But she, God love her, feared to brush
The dust from off its wings.                         

Mountain Creek Lake at Callaway Gardens

Early spring at the Discovery Center on Mountain Creek Lake at Callaway Gardens.  I took my mother there for a afternoon visit.  There were very few people there so we enjoyed a quiet and peaceful walk around the center.

Nature is What We See

The Azaleas live from year to year with only mother nature to nurture and care for them and they continue to thrive.  The one word to describe how I feel when my yard is full of blooms is "happy."

Nature is What We See
by Emily Dickinson

"Nature" is what we see--
The Hill--the Afternoon--
Squirrel--Eclipse--the Bumble bee--
Nay--Nature is Heaven--
Nature is what we hear--
The Bobolink--the Sea--
Thunder--the Cricket--
Nay--Nature is Harmony--
Nature is what we know--
Yet have no art to say--
So important Our Wisdom is
To her Simplicity.

Following the Bees

In spring, my yard is in bloom with busy bees flying from flower to flower.  I thought following them so close with my camera I would get an angry bee after me, but they were too busy to notice me.  I shot dozen of pictures and selected this one bee to be my object of affection. I admit I was uncomfortable around so many bees swarming around the Azaleas.

The is an excerpt from Trapeze by Deborah Digges 1950 - 2009 "Telling the Bees"

"I fell to me to tell the bees,
though I had wanted another duty--
to be the scribbler at his death,
there chart the third day's quickening.
But fate said no, it falls to you
to tell the bees, the middle daughter.
So it was written at your birth."

Deborah Digges's poems rely on the relationship between humans and nature.  She is the author of four books of poetry.  The most recent The Wind Blows Through the Doors of My Heart (Alfred Knopf, 2010)