Butterflies and Friends

Butterflies and Friends

Butterflies and Friends

Butterflies and Friends

Butterflies and friends

Butterflies and Friends

Stand My Ground

Today, Thursday the 30th of September, instead of taking the bicycle to Alligator Lake, I decided to walk. Often, when riding the bicycle, you come upon a scene, and before you have time to park the bike and get off, the scene evaporates. Today, walking slowly along the dike, all creatures seemed quite joyful with the day. It is a terrible thing to equate human characteristics to animals, but the way they darted about in the breeze, one could not help but think they were quite elated with the cooler weather. I certainly was.
About midway through the walk, this Palamedes Swallowtail landed beside me and would not move. It was as if he was standing guard or protecting me. I crouched low and took several photographs of him holding onto the blade of grass swaying in the strong breeze. Then,
out of focus in the frame, I noticed a black glob moving into the frame. I thought it odd and moved the finder away from my eyes to take a look. Out from the underbrush, a black snake had crawled out to take a look at us. The Swallowtail continued to hold its ground.
I got this photograph, then lifted up. In that moment of lifting up, the snake darted back into the underbrush. The Swallowtail stayed a moment and then flew on.
A passing encounter between a Swallowtail, a Black Snake and a Sojourner. Was the Swallowtail warning me? Was it just a chance happening? In the kingdom of the wild, it would be written off as a chance encounter. In the Kingdom of the Imagination, the valiant Swallowtail was willing to stand his ground and give his life for me, if that is what it took to protect me.

Secret Shores

Secret Shores
by John Stokes

Flowing Southward on silvery leaves,
The faerie armada enters the stream.
As luna blinks above the tupelo trees,
Lightening bugs awake from daylight dreams.

Swirling slowly on currents dark,
Sweeping strokes with oak stem oars.
Water nymphs ride on boats of bark,
As high on mists the dragonfly's soar.

O'er beds of gold hid since DeSoto came,
The invisible ones seek a higher calling.
On maps of sand marks the meeting land,
Source of seasons end, of season coming.

To secret shores the minute journey,
Icy breeze whispering to the Southern wind,
Bring nectar and honey forth from the bee,
Tell the Monarch his regal queen to send.

Around the sparkle of the frozen stone,
Long into the chilly night they come.
A bobbin' along to the secret throne,
Cicadas and crickets strum and hum.

As the leaves and bark cluster and dock,
The gathered speak forth the decree,
That tonight, winters grasp will stop.
Tomorrow, Spring shall ride her winged steed.

A hush and prostrate lies the throng.
The Eastern skies afire come alive.
A crescendo lifts in glorious song,
The Monarch and his queen have arrived.

Flitting forward the Royals take court,
The great steed of spring paws the earth.
With a shout the Monarch says, Go Forth!
And Spring rides, ending Winter's mirth.

So should you see Monarch and his queen beside,
On secret shores of faerie land lore so true,
You have been given eyes to witness Springs great ride,
Through Winters warming skies of royal blue!

Michtam of John

Adapted from Psalm 16
Taking the first three words from each line.

Preserve me, O God from the lifting of the waves.
O my soul, guide me Jehovah, all my days.

But to the lovers of darkness, who would my soul ensnare.
Their sorrows shall increase as they fall in their own lair.

The Lord is able to guide me through temptation,
The lines are set and I await your day of salvation.

I will bless thee Yahweh today and always!
I have set my feet to forever walk in your praise.

Therefore my heart in stillness awaits the quieting of waves.

For thou wilt raise this soul so broken and lame.
Thou will shew sinners the power of your Holy name!

Edge of Gloam

Edge of Gloam

by John Stokes

They tell of a water, unbroken by time
Still, dark swirling through the night
Beyond the last bridge above Roline
Near Tupelo blooms hidden from sight.

Brightly glows the dawning of the gloam.

When moon gleams full above the cypress,
The red eyes of Leviathan rise and pierce.
In limestone caves the ferns swaying caress,
As downward the spin of saurian fierce.

Brightly glows the dawning of the gloam.

From tannic waters rise sandbars steep,
The roil of deep rippling far below.
In the distant den coyote pups sleep,
Awaiting Luna's command to rise and go.

Brightly glows the dawning of the gloam.

On blood tinged bank the arrow rests,
Vultures soar above a still stench.
Gut shots slow death of final rest,
Fawn's thirst for Suwannee never quenched.

Brightly glows the dawning of the gloam.

On to shoals below flows the dark parade,
Secrets untold, mysteries hid from ages.
Mists eternal rise deep within the glade,
Calm the surface, under tow of rage.

Brightly glows the dawning of the gloam.
Barred owls call, echoing, This is home.

To the unbroken waters, we yearn to roam.
Brightly glows the dawning of the gloam.

Suwannee Firelight

Since Landon and Jordon were little boys, Melanie and I have taken them to this large sandbar on the upper Suwannee River. To get to this sandbar, you travel on US441 15 miles North from I-10. Cone bridge landing sign is on the left. This dirt road is about a mile to the river. From Cone Bridge, the sandbar is a mile of paddling upstream.
Knowing that the moon was going to be full, Jordon and I wanted to take the opportunity we have never done at the sandbar and camp out. Yesterday we loaded the vehicle with the tent, sleeping bags,beach chairs and a cooler with cokes and hotdogs. We were at the sandbar by 5pm, set up camp then went for a wade in the now shallow Suwannee. It has been awhile since the river has been as low as it was. It was quite a sight to see the many gnarled and twisting tupelo and cypress roots, which normally would be underwater.
We were even able to see the two bridge pylon's of Cone Bridge, which also are normally underwater. The limestone caverns with overhanging vegetation was spectacular to behold as well. We saw two small alligators, one ibis and one turtle. Creatures were not in abundance. We came upon a doe deer that had died from an arrow wound, the arrow laying next to the carcass where the vultures discarded it. And one preying mantis that crawled up to my head.
The evening was filled with fun as we hiked through the dry stream bed to the backside of the sandbar to photograph the rising full moon.
It was there we met the small alligator by seeing his red eyes in the dark water. We hiked back,gathering firewood along the way. Supper were hot dogs without any fixings and cokes. We then played around with werewolf poses before taking a moonlit canoe trip upstream.
After midnight, we decided to move the tent from under the trees out onto the open sandbar where we could look up at the moon. After a few hours of restlessness, adjusting to the lumps, we dozed off. The night sleep was constantly interrupted by a distant coyote, a nearby barred owl and other unidentified sounds. My dreams were prophetic, but as usual, forgotten by six o'clock rising.
We packed early, paddled upstream a ways, catching mornings first light, before heading back to the ramp. We again loaded the truck, tied the canoe as snug as possible, then
made our way back home. Our only loss, the cooler top and lots of blood from mosquito's and ants.
There were way too many photographs taken, as I was overcome by the thrill of being here and not having to be rushed to return home by nightfall.
I will post the efforts at Smug Mug, eventually. For now, I am simply savoring a good time spent with Jordon and the creatures of the nocturne.

Dreams of Katie

Years ago when living in Williston, each Sunday afternoon I would take my guitar and help Mrs Rutland and her daughters teach Sunday School to the 'retarded' folks at Garden Park. This was the only group of people I ever played a guitar in front of, strumming simple songs in about the only three cords I knew. No matter. They thought me a Segovia. One particular person who took a particular liking to me was a lady named Katie. Katie was extremely affectionate and had no qualms about letting you know her affections.
For the Christmas party we held for them, Katie presented me with a book of neatly handwritten simple poems she had composed.
As she shyly handed me the poems, like a little girl she blushed and said "I love you Mr.Stokes!" "Now pluck that guitar for me!"
That was the last time I ever saw Katie. I often wonder what became of her, if she is still living, if she continues to write poetry. It is my continual search for this little book of poems, I trust has not been lost.
When I think of the long winter, and the coming hope for the spring thawing, the warmth of the memory of Katie helps break another ice crystal from the heart, as it flows on this tear stained cheek.