Guardian of the Flow

Just down from Bell Springs, hiking along the Florida Trail, you come to a dip in the path that leads down to the Suwannee. If you step gingerly over the Blue Moon beer bottle resting under the cypress knees, you come to a stop. It is there you meet the guardian of the flow. He determines your inner motive, your inspiration level, and decides whether you shall continue or not.
Often, if he is slumbering, you may slip past, but soon, one of his many kneed scouts sounds the alarm and the bank is called upon to impede your passage. Under foot, the mud becomes just slippery enough to cause you to determine, further advance is futile.
You turn and slink past the guardian, who slaps you upon your rear with one of his snarled branches as you smart your way back to the trail. Today you came with a lack of reverence for the flow. Next time you shall come in humility, laden with inspiration and admiration for the flow beyond the ever vigilant guardian.

Drogue Drift

Drogue Drift by john clare

You could call it the bitter end
of the rope
The point beyond where the fire
fused the strands
The unraveled part that did not
go through the ring
In the taunt the line turns astern
In a vertical load the lift
as the sea claw is freed
Then a straight yaw as the drift begins.
Into the beam sea they go with
memories of mooring
Above the laughing terns mock the folly
In cabin canoes they ply on
in dead reckoning
Paying the price of anchors rejecting.

At Night

At Night by Alice Meynell

Home, home from the horizon far and clear,
Hither the soft wings sweep;
Flocks of the memories of the day draw near
The dovecote doors of sleep.

Oh, which are they that come through sweetest
light
Of all these homing birds?
Which with the straightest and the swiftest
flight?
Your words to me, your words!

Final Toll

Final Toll by john clare

all he left were buckets of nails
jars of screws
pails of bolts
clasps and hinges
hammers and chisels
rulers and squares
porter cable saws
crescent wrenches
rasps and files
boards with termites
for me to build
a future upon.

Woodpecker of fodder wing
Cross tied termite trails
Rusted poles of unflagged sails
These are but things I bring.

In foot lockers past tools rest
Anvils echo blows once born
From the wind the bells of mourn
In dust and sweat a terrible mess.

Tin makers watering can dry
Seeds of bygone gardens mold
To low bidders treasures sold
The untended vine covers the sky.

And into the night pounds the sledge
The future work must go on
Under the old bare bulb alone
Termites flee from the striken wedge.

Buckets of bolts
Closets full of coats
Hinges for rotted doors
Locks closed forever more
Stetson hats for the heat of day
Vested gowns in which to pray
I don the tool apron
Wait for the final bell to toll
To tell me
My present work is done.

Hold the four square nail
Hammer this heart pine sweet
The sawdust piles at thy feet
Your time child, to toll the bell.

Two Log Bridge

Backlit Journey

by john clare

On the double log bridge I rest and watch
Before me the backlit hammock of sunlight blotched
To my right the faint flowing sound of the spring
To the left last evenings rain forms a new stream
Above the thunder roll whistle of a passing jet
And behind over the rise go we all to complete
each our separate journey through the backlit as
The whispered breeze quietly comes to nudge us on
The countless crickets serenade with a symphonic song
Calling, ever calling us to the waters below
I break from the backlit spell and enter the flow.

Silent Requiem

It was but an early August morning, and yet you fell, leaving the last traces of your life oozing yellow upon the forest floor. And I watched helpless, as from the canopied heights you fell. Why so early my sweet friend? Did you not wish to wait for the red autumn to course through your cold veins? Was this your way to gently go, early and unnoticed, as above the sunlight fought to make its way through?
I shall never know. I only know that I was there, to see you fall. I know that in time, this floor shall be covered with the remains of your brothers and sisters who now so blissfully sway the day away. Do they realize what is coming? Do they chill come evening with the thought?

To Abalone

To Abalone by john clare

Into the clear blue of the pool I
suspend and let the silence surround
with a soothing sinking into a dream
of days upon the wide waters when
crashing over our tops we spun in
machine like rhythm, the sand and
the star fish rasping us clean.
They dove to the bottom in search of the
Abalone that held the treasure
Seekers for years who came
to harvest from this pool.
They surfaced so rich
I cannot fathom the depths
they dove to mine these
pearls of rarest beauty.
Tread me water
Tread me water
The float floats from me
Tread me longer
Tread me longer
In a swirl as we did under sea
Tread tread tread
Down descends the heavy head
Tread Tread
Whats that I see
Tread
How rich I shall be
My Abalone
I see.

Infant Eternity

In the volume of the book, I AM have come, and I AM was there upon the dawn, when with but a pinkie I AM called forth trees and all creation upon terra. With the ring I AM called forth the blue firmament with flocks of birds upon it. With the middle I AM called and the sun and moon came and their circuits made between heaven and earth. With but a lifting of the thumb I AM said let the stars sing and the clouds billowing come to hide my glory. And then I AM lifted the grand index and  all the men he ever created came and fell before Him as the book was opened upon the mere infant of days in the eyes of the eternal I AM.

Drawn Away

For this journey the little one adorned herself in the finest colors she could muster. And as she set out upon her journey through the blends of the muted and the impressionables, her coat so bright soon did fade and as she came to the end of her long way, with but one feeble touch toward the master, the petal to the flesh, and the flush of brilliant color returned, as she was set in a place of honor in the Masters window.

Hehet's Haven

And who can measure the immeasurable? The Spider Lily as the innumerable stars of the universe. We greet the coming of the sun, not with the heads of Medusa's and the underworld spirits, but with the light of life from the Creator God, Yahweh, having put all in subjugation to His grand song we all compose upon.

Folding Life

Holding forth the colors in a grand but humble display. I shout quietly the beauty coming forth from me! This creation from the dark veins of my pulpy core. I am not one to throw before you the wonder of this perfection. As you see, I have pulled back the petal of my perfection and I show that I have become as you.

Caress the Gold

It is a Friday. Yes, it is so hot out that most photographers have taken to the studio cool. We were to journey to the beach Saturday.
The prospect of the return to the calming influence of the Atlantic ocean at Crescent Beach leaves as a weep tide. Perhaps we shall journey after all, for as I said previously, I am there now, the waves gently lapping upon the worn one.
And so I sit and watch the caressing of the marigold, the sway of the amaranth, the song of the spider lily,the praise of the Gloriosa Lily and know if the oceans swell not for me, then I have this little garden of friends to carry me.

Two Sides

Two views of the same Sweet Gum leaves in the Spanish Moss. One from the front the other behind, or vise versa, depending upon where you prefer to stand.

River Otter

In the early morning low light under the thick trees, the River Otter made his appearance to me. He snorted continually, then swam underwater, leaving a long bubble trail for me to follow. After a few minutes of this following, he briefly surfaced by his den and I captured a few photographs.

Gulf Fritillary

Agraudis vanillae are returning to the Northern edges of their range to recolonize for the coming summer and fall. Today we encountered them in the fields surrounding Alligator Lake.

Eastern Black Swallowtail

Papilio polyxenes asterius returned today. It has been a long time missing you. In the coming days, as we flit among the Gulf Fritillary and Monarchs passing through, I trust our time upon the fields of lavender will be rich as you fulfill your Iliad.

Otter Man

I cannot get from my thoughts the inane comments a friend made the other day concerning her photographic approach. Too hot, water too low, do not carry camera, do not use little camera in phone...spending her time submitting to magazines, making a little here and there.
I thought of all this as I was again out in the heat of the morning, trekking about, so much overwhelming me, too many scenes I could stop and photograph. I was most pleased to see so many Gulf Fritillary butterflies in the open field. A few Monarchs and one Black Swallowtail. Sulphurs mixed and various moths. One or two of the photographs sang as the backlighting looked right and the background softly out of focus and the flash just right.
And then there was the otter. He saw me before I saw him and snorted into the water, his bubbles showing his path underwater. He would surface, look and snort. I followed him back and forth along the canal before his must of tired and surfaced partially by his den. I got several frames, though the light was dim and the flash not too strong. Later I returned at a slower pace, anticipating seeing him and I found him before he could see me, dozing on top of his den. Again, I got several frames before he snorted and went back to making bubbles. I waited for him to return for about thirty minutes, but he never did.
The thirty minutes was a good wait though, as I sat in stillness, the woods came back to life around me. The owls and woodpeckers called again. The turtles surfaced. The dragonflies lit near me. I thought, we are the big foot in this nature, crashing about, making noise, intruding.  The rest was good.
Even though it neared noon, the time they say photographs should not be taken, still many scenes shouted for me to capture, capture! If you allow yourself to be hemmed in by the inane, like, too hot, water too low, everyone is doing that, sun too high, you will miss so much.
I mean, I was out there, right in the middle of it all, and looked at all I missed! 

Signs of Life

the shutter on the A540 often sticks and just a slit of an exposure is made. This time, with the help of a sunset and the sprinkler going, the slit reminds me of my own vision, often so narrow and confined. Darkness enveloping upon the light. But as the title suggests, it is not the closing in on life, but the opening. The promised signs of life. All about. Just for us to have the touch applied.

Shroud of Tevis

How does one explain? In the sprinkler the face of the Christ, as depicted upon the Shroud of Turin. The mystery of photography. The unintented consequences. It is what keeps me keeping the little camera or the bigger camera at the side.

Life of Hummer

This poor little female rarely gets to taste from the feeder. The male hummingbird dominates the feeders by the window and tries his hardest to maintain sole ownership. You would think it would be to his best interest to let her feed, but he will have nothing to do with fair play. I spend up to an hour each morning trying to capture these hummingbirds in the right light and pattern. They are so fast, that rarely do I get one that is acceptable. I use the D40 Nikon since it has a 500 shutter speed that syncs with the flash. This helps freeze the action. I also like to use a slow shutter speed under 15 with the flash. This gives a nice ghost image. Mainly though, I am just contented to get one hovering or sitting on a limb next to the feeder.

Icon Tree Truckers

It was one of those photographs I have taken, only to realize, upon further investigation, there is more to it than first seen. My first impression as I followed this tree truck to work one morning last week, was the little branch hanging over, and the large trunk. They were like being taken prisoner, slaughter, cemetery, etc.
Then, I got to looking at the rust patterns and clearly to me, on the right side panel, a distinct graphic depiction of Jesus as drawn by artists. He has a sad countenance. He is looking off to the right. Am I the only one who saw it? I certainly did not see it when I first took the photograph.

Fawn Upon Suwannee

Worn from the humidified heat, having walked up to the Big Shoals for a look about, I had made my way to the low lying shoal below Big Shoals. Taking inventory of the camera bag, wiping condensation from my glasses and lenses, I sat and just caught it all in. Then, along the not so distant bank, this little fawn, not knowing I was sitting at waters edge, romped and ran back and forth along the bank , in seeming play. Truth is, she had probably already spotted me and was trying to make it out of the clearing, panicking that the opening she remembered was not readily found.
I had enough time to pull the D40 from the bag with the 55-200 and follow focus her for about ten frames until she bounded up into the palmettos. She would do well to stay high off the bank, for just below her, down stream a bit, lurks the eight foot alligator I see each time I come to his spot.

Monday Sway

I am not even attempting to rhyme anymore. I am simply writing lines, suppose you would call it prose.
It is a prose about my journey to the Suwannee River at Bell Springs yesterday afternoon. It was a call to heed. A call needed. A friend came by the store the other day, who happens to be a 'photographer'. I shall call her a fair weather photographer. She made several comments that kind of caused me to ponder and say huh?
When I said, have you been out photographing lately? She replied, too hot. I said, I have been upon the Suwannee. She said, Too low, everyone is doing low water photography.. Then I said, Do you always carry your camera? She said, No. And she will probably make the cover of Rolling Stone.

Monday Sway   by john clare

Three-thirty overtook me and drew me away
In a familiar track the wheels turned toward Suwannee
Who cares the day grey and the rain on its way?
Waters upon the lens makes diffused spots of interest
And a wet camera upon the river
beats a dry camera in the bag at home any day.
To the grassy lot of Bell Springs I parked next to the red pick up
It looked as if Monroe had moved from his home to my right.
It is never a happy sight to see another vehicle in the lot
If usually means noise and the scattering of the creatures.
But today all was quiet except the rain in the trees
Once upon the shore the pattered sand showed no tracks of men
Upstream a large alligator floated in mid river facing south.
Further up the tobacco hopper posed atop a cypress knee
Each time I focused he moved so I kept placing him back.
He grew weary of this game and fled to quieter knees.
And the nerve of me to blame others for ruining tranquility.
I could walk no further on the edge as the water had risen
So I back traced the way I entered and up the steep bank
Into the sparkle berry and palmetto I blended.
My shadow appeared at last as the sun broke but for a moment.
Shadow said quicker now, there may be rainbows appearing.
Under the canopy of green two passion flowers  opened instead.
They had the best view taken high upon the bank to the passing
river below them.
On the way out I glanced over to see if death was still watching.
He was, but the moccasin let me pass with my life to carry but
for another day.
And the man said it was good to get away
if but for an hour.
for an hour with the camera beats twenty-four without.
And it was good.








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One Grand Little Son

Grandma's Hands