White Springs

Today is Sunday, January 12. Tomorrow Melanie will have a birthday. Today after church we hope to travel over to White Springs for the two o'clock Stephen Foster Day. We do not know what to expect but will go.
White Springs is one of my favorite little towns in the area.
I am still caught in the thoughts from yesterday and the trip down to view and photograph the Sand Hill Cranes out on Whitehurst's property at Wacahoota. Then the drive down 320 to Micanopy, stopping frequently as turkey or cracker houses came. It is an area that exudes old Florida.
The thoughts from yesterday invariable return to if only I had this lens or that setting to make the shots better. No second takes. So important to get it correct the first time. Like life. So important to get it right the only time we have to get it right.

And we are only good as yesterday's rhyme
Forgotten as around the bier we pine
And what of the words he long spoke
Was he taken for but a stammering joke
The works seemed as precious gold
But fire revealed them wood rotten and old
With a brass lantern he held his light
And as he tried to prime away the night
The glass globe hot and dark with smut
Forgotten he was as the lid was shut.