Those Who Linger

"Some of you lingered among the sheepfolds, and you found a dove's wings covered with silver, its feathers with yellow gold." Psalms 68:13.

We had mournfully returned to my fathers house off US27 a mile outside Williston, to finalize the moving of his belongings. In March we had come to Orange Hill Cemetery, to lay my father, The Rev.Luther Ray Stokes, in one of the many plots he had purchased years ago. My father had moved from Crawfordville, Florida some ten years earlier to Williston, no doubt in preparation for his final resting place.
As I opened the door into his house, the small wren-like bird flew around the foyer and into the blinds, tired from his long confinement. I was able to easily take the bird from the blinds in his weak state and take him outside. There, he looked about the yard in seeming wonder on my fingers, in no grand hurry to fly away.
I let him sit as long as he chose, before in unusual manner, he cocked his little head at me, as if to communicate something, then  flew up into the dogwood tree.
I knew of my fathers love for the outdoors, the many times, in Williston and at Crawfordville, he would just sit and observe from his porch or garden, the wonders of God's creation. With his passing went so much knowledge of the outdoors from gardening to the wildlife, I so miss today.
This past week, we were again called to Williston and Orange Hill, this time to lay to rest, my wife's youngest full sister, Melissa at age 43. Devon, Melissa's sister Kim's daughter, told this story. The day following the funeral, Devon was at her grandmother Billie Earl's house in Williston, and went into the utility room off the carport. There, in the blinds, was this small hummingbird, with gold breast feathers and dark wings. In his weak condition, Devon was able, like I was, to capture the little bird, which rested in her hand for a moment before flying off outside.
When I heard of this, I thought back to the bird in my father's house, and like him, Melissa too was a lover of all creatures and things at a disadvantage, wanting in some way to help.
Then there was the third manifestation at the cemetery the day of Melissa's burial. This young man, dressed in all black, going by the name of Gibson, rode in the funeral procession with the lead sheriff car. At the cemetery, he went over to my wife saying he knew she was the one most hurting, that he wanted to tell her that Melissa was OK, handing Melanie a funeral obituary scribbled with mostly scripture verses. And then he was gone. No one knew who he was.
I venture to say, in the two birds and the mysterious man in black, we were witness to the presence of the Lord's ministering spirits. They are all about, usually in plain view from our blinded eyes. Blessed are we when we perceive or gain a glimpse into their ministering work.

Adramyttium by john clare

I shall abide in death

From the Fair Havens every voyage begins
Gently refreshing are the southerly breezes
Though contrary still on our journey they send
For we sail confident in familiar seas.

By our skill the wind suffers our sails
Allowing us passage to ports of call
Where we listen to old salts tales
Of mighty ships with masts so tall.

Alas, ignoring the old salts warning
we place our faith in the helmsman
who laughs at the dark clouds forming
and so we sailed into the Euroclydon wind.

Caught, we can no longer will the wind
We are at the mercy of the drive
Striking sails as the masts downward bend
Fearing we shall not get out alive.

No sun nor stars to steer our course
Nor ceasing of the tempest raging
All hope is taken in the gales force
Nothing,nothing this wind assuage.

Then standing forth after long silence
Be of good cheer,all is not lost
You shall live,though not your ship
How can we believe in this storm tossed?

We shall perish,every man to the yawl!
Stay men! Unless you abide in the ship
Upon dry land you shall never crawl
Cut the ropes and away she slips!

Wishing for the day, the man said eat
Kneeling, he gave thanks and broke bread
As the waves upon the ship did beat
For not a hair shall fall from any head.

Two-hundred forty six souls adrift
One prophet and One Mighty Angel aboard
To the Sovereign Sailor they did lift
Thanksgiving to the seas Lord.

Finding a certain creek with a shore
The sailors minded to thrust the ship
And committed their lives as planks tore
As the mainsail began to dip.

With the ship fast aground in the swell
The waves battering and violently breaking
We began to swim from this watery hell
The Centurion saving our lives from the taking.

And so it came to pass as the prophet said,
Not a man from the ship was lost
As around that barbarian fire we fed
From his hand a snake the prophet tossed.

What manner of man of this?
Having escaped the Adramyttium
He heals flux and stops serpents hiss?
Preaching a Kingdom of God
and receiving all that come to him
Teaching those things concerning
his Lord Jesus Christ
With all confidence
No man forbidding him.
Not even the Euroclydon seas.

Rock a bye by John Clare Stokes

This poem was dedicated to the twenty-seven empty cradles from December 14th.
The twenty-six children and teachers who died at the Sandy Hook School and on the same day, Melanie, Kim and Heather's sister Melissa at age 43.
Today, December 11, Melissa would have been 44.

Before we have had the time to learn
the lines to that little lullaby
Before the high chair and toys are
stored in the shed
Before even the waking to the crying
is forgotten from the spindled bed,
"Rock a by baby in the tree top"
Too soon we are standing in December winds
Lamenting the bough has broken
And over our precious little ones we bend
then look madly up at that tree
hushed
Not a word spoken.
It was such a strong tree!
And wasn't it but a gentle breeze?
How could baby and cradle from us fall?
Who turned and left baby alone after all?
Oh! Trust not the strength in the trees
Or even the softness in the south breeze.
They will deceive and send baby falling.
Listen long for all about in the wind
Seen in the squint of eyes
the broken lines of faces
weary from sleep lost nights.
Watch for the cradles ever swinging dangerously
Reach out the hand and stave the winds might
Reach for the little ones in cradles of trees that fall
Out upon the rotten limbs
Swaying in the winds,
Needing so desperately to be taken in.
Hush little friend
Hush little brother
Hush little sister
Don't you cry
The wind shall not bother you again
The limb shall never fall my friend
You are safe here
by My side.

The two Physician Assistants

There once was a true story of two Physician Assistants. One male, one female. Both attended the same church. Now to the male, everyone took their medical questions to. He made it known that he was a PA.
Everyone knew he was a PA, if not a P.
Then one day I was visiting in a local hospital. I saw the female in her white lab coat. I asked my wife,
is she an orderly here or something? My wife said, No, she is a PA.
I never even knew until then. I was amazed by the humility that this female displayed, as opposed to the pride of position of the male. She never flaunted her position. No one ever asked her medical advice.
She just quietly went about doing her job without fanfare
Oh that more of us would take the position of the servant, and not the Master!

Three Ladies

And the three ladies who were kayaking from above the Shoals down to Stephen Foster State Park in White Springs, a nice day trip.

Up from Largo

The morning was shrouded in fog, a good day to return to the Suwannee at Bell Springs. The fog lingered until noon. While waiting for the sun to break through, on the bank by Big Shoals whittling a stick, this gentleman startles me. These two couples from Key Largo had arrived in their kayaks on a two day journey from Fargo down to the Spirit of the Suwannee Campground. They asked me the best place to put the kayaks in past the shoals. We chatted a bit and I admired the Native Watercraft canoe one of the ladies was in. I went on downstream where I met up with three other ladies in kayaks paddling down to campground in White Springs. Seems canoes are passe, with kayaks ruling the day.

Octagonal Dawning

The old octagonal church,school, now barn on Price Creek two miles from home this morning. Cool weather coming.

Lucille's Pastures

 

Sulphur Sensation

Along the route today on a wonderfully breezy and not too hot afternoon, I came upon a myriad of Cloudless Sulphurs flitting about the vibrant red flowers. Had to stop and compose several frames, this one the most pleasing to me as the female Sulphur comes in for a landing. The camera was the Canon S95, always at my side in a belt pouch, with the flash at one and a third under exposed and the exposure one and a half under exposed, on the program mode.

October Evening

The daises by the mailbox are about to pan out. Only two remained tonight in bloom. I was able to compose one toward the sunset and adjust the flash down to the lowest setting in able not to over-expose. The background sky was under-exposed by two stops at the maximum setting the Canon S95 allows. I am able to achieve the afffect I am after much quicker with the Canon than the Nikon D5000 DSLR due to the simplified controls. In other words, its not always about the camera, but what you know about the camera you are using. The Nikon no doubt would have taken a higher resolution photograph, but the menu and settings are not second nature, or as easily manipulated as the Canon.

Pastor Russell's daughter Ashlynn

 

Pin Points Poem

This poem was written while sitting in the backyard, pondering the trip we had just taken last week to West Virginia and over to Kentucky, 2000 miles of reliving past memories of places lived. There were so many places I wish we had the time to visit, and thus the circled spots. It would be grand to travel with no destination in mind, no time constraints, like the fellows on the old Route 66 show, from town to town, working their way across America.

Monarch Caterpillar

A Monarch caterpillar came to eat the milkweed plant that I had transplanted from my fathers place in Williston. I thought that he had going into a cacoon stage but upon closer inspection, the milkweed was giving out little seed parachutes, of which I collected and planted. The caterpillar disappeared and I continue to search for him.

Fall Fade

 

Holding On

The daisies by the mailbox, at the end of the drive are rapidly fading and falling away. This one remained through the sunset before going the way of the others.

Phaon Crescent

In Greek mythology, Phaon was an old man who ferried the goddess of love, Aphrodite, to her destination. In return for his services, she gave him youth and beauty.
I await her betowal.

thirty-three egrets fly over a contrail

 

Rough Rider

The trails were quite challenging today...a stop to chase a buckeye butterfly...

Alligator Lake

Got off around 1PM from work today. Took the mountain bike out to Alligator Lake. Took the trail that has not been mowed due to the rain. Tough riding. Not too much seen by way of wildlife. Gathered several apple snail shells, the amber disc valve that covers the opening of the shell. Found a note on the car in the parking lot, we have your grandson, bawhahaha...I suppose Landon and Amber were at the playground. Wish I had noticed as it is going on two weeks since seeing Nathaniel.

John's Pond

 

iMoon

 

Forget Me Not Sunset

The forget me nots at the end of the driveway.

The Gathering Spot

Today the gathered sit arounds were no where to be found. Usually when I pass, five or six black men of varying ages are shooting the breeze, drinking beer and having a good time. While America has largely become a neighborhood of the non-working such as this, it is never the less refreshing to see people out and having a good time, even though times are not so grand.

Mr Foote

Mr Foote is an 87 year old fellow who lives alone in a tiny, run down, one room wooden home. When I read the meter on his house, I always make sure that I bring him a granola bar or something, which he relishes.
I would like to return one day and just sit on the porch with him, perhaps learning more of his history.
I come upon many such people as Mr Foote, living alone, making do.

Fall Skipper