Deep Rivers and Trackless Forests

"Her mighty lakes, like oceans of liquid silver; her mountains, with bright aerial tints; her valleys, teeming with wild fertility; her tremendous cataracts, thundering in their solitudes; her boundless plains, waving with spontaneous verdure; her broad, deep rivers, rolling in solemn silence to the ocean; her trackless forests, where vegetation puts forth all its magnificence; her skies, kindling with the magic of summer clouds and glorious sunshine - no, never need an American look beyond his own country for the sublime and beautiful of natural scenery.”

 
― Washington Irving, The Sketch Book    

Tangled Woods

 

“Oh, but you must travel through those woods again and again... said a shadow at the window... and you must be lucky to avoid the wolf every time...

But the wolf... the wolf only needs enough luck to find you once.”
― Emily Carroll, Through the Woods    

The Lonely Hunter

"The Lonely Hunter"

by Fiona MacLeod

Green branches, green branches, I see you beckon; I follow!

Sweet is the place you guard, there in the rowan-tree hollow.

There he lies in the darkness, under the frail white flowers,

Heedless at last, in the silence, of these sweet midsummer hours.

But sweeter, it may be, the moss whereon he is sleeping now,

And sweeter the fragrant flowers that may crown his moon-white brow:

And sweeter the shady place deep in an Eden hollow

Wherein he dreams I am with him -- and, dreaming, whispers, "Follow!"

Green wind from the green-gold branches, what is the song you bring?

What are all songs for me, now, who no more care to sing?

Deep in the heart of Summer, sweet is life to me still,

But my heart is a lonely hunter that hunts on a lonely hill.

Green is that hill and lonely, set far in a shadowy place;

White is the hunter's quarry, a lost-loved human face:

O hunting heart, shall you find it, with arrow of failing breath,

Led o'er a green hill lonely by the shadowy hound of Death?

Green branches, green branches, you sing of a sorrow olden,

But now it is midsummer weather, earth-young, sun-ripe, golden:

Here I stand and I wait, here in the rowan-tree hollow,

But never a green leaf whispers, "Follow, oh, Follow, Follow!"

O never a green leaf whispers, where the green-gold branches swing:

O never a song I hear now, where one was wont to sing.

Here in the heart of Summer, sweet is life to me still,

But my heart is a lonely hunter that hunts on a lonely hill.

Dwell in the Green Mountain

Green Mountain

By Li Bai

You ask me why I dwell in the green mountain;
I smile and make no reply for my heart is free of care.
As the peach-blossom flows down stream and is gone into the unknown,
I have a world apart that is not among men.

"Clown In the Moon"

Clown In The Moon

My tears are like the quiet drift

Of petals from some magic rose;
And all my grief flows from the rift
Of unremembered skies and snows.

I think, that if I touched the earth,
It would crumble;
It is so sad and beautiful,
So tremulously like a dream.

By Dylan Thomas

"Do Not Go Gentle Into that Good Night"

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieve it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.


Dylan Thomas (1914-1953)

Athabasca Falls

Psalm 42:7 (NIV)

⁷ Deep calls to deep
    in the roar of your waterfalls;
all your waves and breakers
    have swept over me.

Waterfowl Lake

1 Corinthians 2:9 (NKJV)
⁹ But as it is written:

“Eye has not seen, nor ear heard,
Nor have entered into the heart of man
The things which God has prepared for those who love Him."

Sonoma Coast

 
 
 

The Eagle 
  

By Alfred, Lord Tennyson  

         

He clasps the crag with crooked hands;

Close to the sun in lonely lands,

Ring'd with the azure world, he stands.

The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;

He watches from his mountain walls,

And like a thunderbolt he falls.

Columbia Icefields

The Columbia Icefield is the largest ice field in the Rocky Mountains of North America.  Located in the Canadian Rockies astride the Continental Divide along the border of British Columbia and Alberta, Canada.

Tangle Creek Waterfall

Tangle Creek Falls is one of the most commonly photographed waterfalls in the Icefield Parkways between Jasper and Banff National Park. This is because of its incredibly easy access along the Parkway itself. The watefall has a drop of 114 feet and has cascading tiers of 14, then 18 and then 13 feet respectively. Tangle Creek Falls are 7km north of the Columbia Icefield Centre.

Bow Lake "A Joy Forever"

A thing of beauty is a joy forever.
Its loveliness increases; it will never
pass into nothingness ...―John Keats

Takakkaw Falls

  
 
 
Takakkaw Falls is in Yoho National Park and is the second highest waterfall in Canada.

Takakkaw River

These photos were taken at the Takakkaw River in Yoho National Park.  the word "takakkaw" meant "magnificent" in the Cree language.

"Streams of Water"

"As the deer pants for streams of water,

so my soul pants for you, my God."  Psalm 42:1

Cabin On the Athabasca

This was the view from the cabin where we stayed for four days.  There were nature trails along the river bank.  It was a beautiful spot to experience the park.

Misty Mountains Cold

 
 


FAR OVER THE MISTY MOUNTAINS COLD


Far over the misty mountains cold
To dungeons deep and caverns old
We must away ere break of day
To seek the pale enchanted gold.

The dwarves of yore made mighty spells,
While hammers fell like ringing bells
In places deep, where dark things sleep,
In hollow halls beneath the fells.

For ancient king and elvish lord
There many a gleaming golden hoard
They shaped and wrought, and light they caught
To hide in gems on hilt of sword.

On silver necklaces they strung
The flowering stars, on crowns they hung
The dragon-fire, in twisted wire
They meshed the light of moon and sun.

Far over the misty mountains cold
To dungeons deep and caverns old
We must away, ere break of day,
To claim our long-forgotten gold.

Goblets they carved there for themselves
And harps of gold; where no man delves
There lay they long, and many a song
Was sung unheard by men or elves.

The pines were roaring on the height,
The winds were moaning in the night.
The fire was red, it flaming spread;
The trees like torches blazed with light.

The bells were ringing in the dale
And men they looked up with faces pale;
The dragon’s ire more fierce than fire
Laid low their towers and houses frail.

The mountain smoked beneath the moon;
The dwarves they heard the tramp of doom.
They fled their hall to dying fall
Beneath his feet, beneath the moon.

Far over the misty mountains grim
To dungeons deep and caverns dim
We must away, ere break of day,
To win our harps and gold from him!


Far over the misty mountains cold is a poem found within the chapter "An Unexpected Party" of The Hobbit.  By J.R.R. Tolkien