ATOP MT. WASHINGTON, NEW HAMPSHIRE

From meadow and valley fields, though open deciduous woods, then dense evergreens growing smaller as road’s ascent grows longer and higher and vistas begin to open. Then in a well- marked demarcation trees reach their end of line. Grasses, sedges, few small flowers too, barely clinging to mountain side, mosses rare and lichens, yellow bright, declare tree line is finally reached. Life becomes most difficult.

Winds whip, abrade with specks of rock, freezes thaw, then freeze again, well below the base-line norm. Botanic life is shorn of height, hiding from the furies might, between weather ravaged rock, sheltered in frost created cracks, within a pile of freeze created rocks.
Primitive and basic, life is lived in extreme, as from beginning it does seem. Water is life’s necessity, water is the enemy. While flowing moist it nourishes, wind-driven, frozen-dry discourages.









Imagination cannot comprehend the time that has been spent to construct and destruct such massive stuff. Fragile and easily destroyed we are, civilized but not too far, searching for a place to realize who we may be and Why. Reduced to insignificance we seek to find our magnificence, but there is no inevitable defense, for soon we all will be past tense. That is what unites us all, visitors from around the globe, to clamor to the top to find ourselves in awe.

















At the top of the northeast all the world comes to see, by foot, by rail, by car, truly an amazing sight. Many languages spoken, bound by a common bond, to stand atop Mt. Washington, to stand atop and stare. Stare to see forever, everywhere, a universal need, a universal desire. Many cluster a the top, the goal being reached, but few stop along the way to discover that the journey is the true goal, the peak but a brief reward, a trophy.













The mountain train has been climbing the this high peak forever, a hundred fifty years. The highest peak was much higher once, forever ago, two hundred million years, give or take a few. Forevers are indeed forever, forever will they seem. Each forever is forever in its own esteem. Each a cosmic blink depending how you think. On the macro-side the frost chunks the rock apart, forever freezes thaw and water slips between, on the micro-scale lichen does the same! One an act of physics, the other of chemistry.












Billowy white the clouds that float the sky become gray fog when with mountain peak collide.
Slow the rock does bend and fold, perception does lie, rock is not as solid as we’ve oft been told, for solid rock so old belies such tales told bold.


Browns and tans and greens and yellows, bright blooms , dull seeds, bright seeds, dull blooms, in the late summer the stress of living shows how great the toll extracted. The pain of reality, reversing one small patch of entropy, is obvious, yet so painful to see. Wonder what the point is really meant to be. Strive and die forever, but prepare to future face? Such is the faith of living, running the great race. For each life exists to better life for life yet to be.

MID-AUGUST THOUGHTS

There is no blue as blue
As the blue that is the sky,
Golden sunlight upon the air,
Blue scattered to your eye.





BODIE ISLAND LIGHTHOUSE
OUTER BANKS
NORTH CAROLINA




Collected caws of several crows that rang throughout the woods ending month of July, have been replaced by raucous rantings of blue jays when mid- August appears. Loud and boisterous, the world around here belongs to them, at least for this moment. Must be family obligations end sooner for old crows than it does for the jays.

As an aside, the goldfinches seem to be just pairing, still carefree as a summer breeze.

A few thin wisps of white dot the blue bright, drifting features across pure blue. Soon more wispy white floats thin and general haze begins. The blueness of the blue sky dulls as mid-morning air fills with moisture-laden vapors.

Plaintive lament of mourning dove, what caused your grief, such endless sadness compelled to proclaim for all to hear. What pray tell, what can be the source of so much remorse. Sadness sung when spring has begun and domestic chores can overwhelm, such sadness at the prospect may be understood, and now spring has gone and summer to reflect, surely some joy is to expect, but again your sad lament. Perhaps there is a sad thought that the task is now complete.

As mid-morning passes on towards noon, the jays are gone, all is silent, all is calm. Slight is leafy movement, quick is wispy flowing whiteness. Cool is becoming warm, and warm is the forecast, return of haze and hot and humid.


Since life’s excess is yet to be,
Morning light can not compete
With glory color that ends a day.

Filled with life’s breath so moist,
With brilliant blue fading gray,
Golden globe sets a glorious way.

From air that was crystal clear,
Life-filled, mid-summer’s day
Sun set sweet on crimson play.

RDS

SAUNTERING SAPSUCKER WOODS-MARCH 2010

.....................Thoughts..........................
In solitude thoughts drift in and out,
Words rarely make the page,
In company words drift about,
Thoughts rarely make the stage.


Late in the month of March winter weariness sets in, spring crowds out the last of winter thought. But after a long, hot and humid spell in July and August winter thoughts become more “pleasant” shall we say. And so I add these thoughts to my blog although the saunter was long ago in the late winter.





Slowly dies the winter in the month of March. Quickly one day becomes the summer, spring barely makes the scene. Spring is but a state of mind slowly building in the soul, building as slowly as, day by day, the sun rises in the sky.
In the earliest of spring, often late winter by calendar reckoning, winter retreats but gradually. Small, shallow ponds seem to freeze the hardest, are held in winter’s grip the longest. Slowly, ever so slowly, long after their shorelines have shed winter’s icy grip, released from winter bondage, ponds reluctantly, concede to spring!
White snow covered surfaces gradually go grey or may even surprise with an orange color, almost rusty from winter algae growing wherever winter sun had often appeared. Solid winter ice sponges in the warming, growing days, punky and crumbly like a rotting woodland log returning to the soil from which it once had once sprung.







Soon spring rings the ponds and ice continents separate into but islands in the sea. Life, never really killed by winter, slowly revives to prosper in the sunshine glory that is spring. Notice, notice, always take note subtle changes every spring day. Always notice, changes always changing is the game, day by day, year by year, ever are the changes changing to unite us to eternity.
Plants are such wonderful time-temperature integrators and never is that more apparent than in the early spring. Sun warmed soil springs life forth quickly and where the snow lies longest, green always grows the last.

Soon the sun begins to fade, a last sparkle in some icy water mix and I go home!!
RDS

SUMMER SAUNTER AT SAPSUCKER

A calendar year is a very long short space of time. So much occurs in duration, but in end seems yet yesterday. Each passing year is compressed when comes to close, but exists forever while living.






Last summer an evening was spent at Sapsucker Woods to photograph the summer sunshine. Two weeks ago another summer evening was spent at Sapsucker seeking images of mid-summer bright. In summer, woods are mostly just green and dark from leafy canopy’s shade, a respite from the summer heat, but the light does not excite. After a cool and refreshing cold front passed through, pushing away recent heat and oppressive humidity, open areas, recently too hot, welcomed with open arms, a restless soul.





A year ago the summer was cool, a brief hot spell in April was about all we could call summer!! Long daylight of June was largely wasted because of the chill. Days of course were long but degrees where lacking, shrinking the magic degree-days needed for growth, dwarfing plant production, so to speak.


The ferns along the boardwalks luxuriated in this summer’s heat and humidity and sufficient rainfall. Never stressed they grew and grew, easily reaching 5 ft. for some, over flowing the boardwalk itself, lush, beautiful green, full fronds , so dramatic. Last year the ferns barely made 3 ft. and were much more sparse. And two years earlier, they actually took on a fall look by August because of a long dry, hot spell.
An interesting side-bar to this season’s story. Last year the cool weather was kind to some planted “wild-flowers” at the sanctuary. The bergamot plants were superb last year. They were planted in full sun but prefer dappled sun at clearings or creek sides, not liking to cook in the hot sun. Last year, because it was cool they did fine, this year not so good. They were not happy sweltering in the heat or humidity. Perhaps some seeds will find a spot more to their liking in the future!! So every year is different, every year some are happy, some are sad. Every year is not all good, every year is not all bad.
But what is consistent from year to year is the journey of the earth around the sun, around it’s axis, around and around. Late afternoon becomes early evening, shadows become longer at noon, day’s end-pieces yield softer, less harsh light. From the end of July, each week the length of daylight and shadow is more noticeable, as September and October approach the pace quickens, i.e. “time-rate of change” becomes greater to use an old calculus term.

The sun has almost set
And then its time to go home!!
RDS

ANGEL INSPIRED RESTLESS SUMMER THOUGHTS

Glimpsed but sporadically through the leafy canopy,
Southward glances in the pre-dawn darkness,
Silver slivers of light are seen, but it's not the rising sun,
It is the near-new moon giving false sun to me.

In darkness of predawn only light to see,
Is reflected sun shining from the moon.
Although too far east to be seen
Your sunlight still reaches me.

In mid summer, morning light is early
And twilight still seems so long.
Finally the sun comes into view,
Silver moon develops golden hue
Before dissolving into blue.

Blue sky o'er takes the golden moon,
But still the moon glow twinkles through.

Mysteries of mysteries our magical point of view,
Why are the moon and sun same size.
Humbling to marvel, surmise, on such eternal whys.

How special is a conscious being,
How unique the act of seeing.
Life is here, simple, complex not clear,
Why is the question that is so dear.

Why reflect upon the moon and sun early on summer morn.
Perhaps to see an angel and an inspiration too!!


I have not posted much of late, not sure why. Then a special angel came and inspired me!! Thank you K!! RDS

Niagara Falls in winter

WINTER SAUNTER AT SAPSUCKER WOODS

MESSAGES- SUNDAY SCRIBBLINGS

MESSAGES

Words transmitted quick as thought
Understanding by others sought,
A moment clear in poet's mind,
Words, echo, re-echo and unwind
Around, around inside anothers head,
Until all meaning's mixed instead.

Brief moment froze in poet's mind,
Becomes to another an insightful find,
Insightful meaning with each read,
In reader's mind reflects indeed,
The many moody moments found,
Deep, deep within the reader bound.

................RDS

WINTER'S RESTLESS SOUL

Restless is the night,
Darkness haunts my weary soul.
Wandering beauty with insight,
Offers only brief respite
From the demons of the night.

Darkness fills with restless dread,
As silence echoes in cavernous head,
So much so often left unsaid,
As silence speaks too loud instead.

Last week moon light glances
Danced upon the snow,
Tonight only darkness dances,
Dances until morning glow.

......RDS

DISTANT ROMANCE ONE SINGLE IMPRESSION # 8o

DISTANT ROMANCE

Two heart’s begin to beat as one,
As innocent love’s journey has begun,
Though heart and soul are one to see,
Love’s heat and passion cannot be.

Although time has lost it’s sway
And great distance melts away
And even with love’s bond today
Love’s heat and passion must delay.

Lover’s eyes will forever search
Into each soul themselves to see,
Reflecting delight in lover’s sun,
Blinding their sight of everyone.

On soft shoulders lovers rest,
Wrapped arm in arm lovers play
At dream’s love imagined best
As great distance melts away.

.............................................RDS

SAUNTERING SEPTEMBER MORNING NATURE NOTES # 25

Sauntering September Morning

Sauntering a September morning at Sapsucker Woods at the break of day and beyond, armed with a thermos full of coffee and a camera, the morning was full of promise. It did not disappoint.

The big surprise of the morning was talking to a beaver out strolling the path ahead. He didn’t say much, left in a hurry, told me his presence then splashed in the pond. Swimming under the surface, seen only by a trail of bubbles lasting but four feet, soon he was gone.

The first glimpse of sun through the trees reflected gold and glory off the Fuller wetlands pond and water lilies. First light is magic but fleeting, a lot like my buddy the beaver.
It is surprising how quickly the sun moves at the horizon. When trying to align and compose a photo time is of the essence. What catches your eye is not static and may soon not be there. Gold of sun lasts not long.


Reflections are nice in the late summer light.

The inevitable creep of water lilies will choke out the reflection of this landmark barn at Sapsucker Woods.

But the morning stillness perfects the illusion that the world looks upside down

















An hour later the sun spotlights the woods, giving accent to normally obscure scenes. A simple fern frond appears dramatic.

Lit only by a shaft of morning sun and framed by shadow, mushrooms, the fungus “flowers” of the fall woodland, give color in dark woods.

















A cup of coffee later, the sun is not golden but silver, giving a new look to the very same spot.

Hiding the sun’s globe behind water lily leaf edges sparkles the water’s surface.

The lateness of the summer, accented by lower sunshine angle, shows dramatic in the occasional, premature coloring of some tree branches. Stressed by too much or too little summer moisture, fall colors spot the woods and fresh, dried leaves speckle the ground.

Muskrat trails part the weeds like spokes of a wagon’s wheel. The shortest way across a circle is through the center, even a muskrat figures that.

Soon the sun is high and shadows shorten,

time for lunch and camera packing,

and so I go home.

.....................................................................RDS