Adventures in Natureland
{the blog}
{11/12/2011}
I think the last of the butterflies flitted through the fields today. More specifically, I saw several common buckeyes, and a couple of gulf fritillaries. And the leaves on the trees--you could see the variant from green to plum. When I'm out here, I find myself. This is who I am, under heaven. And as part of who I am, it is surely part of my destiny.
I have said many times that I cannot do poetry. But I do, in fact, become a poet when inspired by creation. I am a poet who writes with light and pixels--photography. And I am a poet who, under perfect circumstances, can of occasion write with words. But how can I capture the color of a blue sky? Or the soaring flight of an eagle, or the glimmer of light on water? I cannot recreate it--not perfectly. But I suppose that is part of the beauty. The variety in my own personal interpretation.
This Night
a month-old journal of estuary life
Tonight the night is lovely. I am at camp, volunteering with the Estuary Life program, where schools and other groups
come to learn about the local nature with lots of hands-on experience. I am walking down the path to the pier.
A few odd birds are tweeting in their trees above my head, though the night be dawned and the
sky hued midnight blue. The stars twinkle like so many tiny mirrors reflecting light—
though they produce light of their own by burning gases.
I am walking down the pier towards the boats.
It is amazing how much I hear--
(to read the rest, click here!)
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Autumn
The cotton covers the fields like spots of snow. And it thrills my heart to see yellow, purple, red-orange leaves against a soft blue sky. The clouds, those ethereal clusters of cotton, mirror the fields below. Other clouds lay straight, long, and low like an oncoming blanket of snow. And the savanna--scattered with goldenrod and other lovely autumn weeds and with the pine trees sprouting green. And the grasses, how they glow golden, orange, red in the sun. How the white threads of seeds catch the light and reflect it like crystals. And some of the grass, how it stains purple as it dies. Green to purple...God is a talented artist, isn't He?
Autumn Warriors
{ O c t o b e r F i g h t }
"O My people, the hour is late and the time for sleeping is past. Gird on the armor of truth and righteousness,
and know that the battle is in full array. Not by might nor by power, but by My Spirit shall you be victorious,
so do not seek to outwit the enemy by fleshly strategy. Only as you go in the strength of the Lord shall you stand.
Flee compromise, for it ...leads always to defeat. The shed blood of Christ is your only protection.
When you go into battle, go in My Name, and know that you go against an already defeated foe.
Claim the victory, and know that it is yours as you act in faith."
(from "On the Highroad of Surrender," the devotional by Frances J. Roberts)
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The marsh at autumn. This is where all of the water drainage tunnels let out, so every time it rains this place becomes a bit of a bog.
Tiny Skippers
a poem
by me
(Krysta Denzer)
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[Skippers are a type of butterfly known for their quick and darting movements.]
Autumn Arrives
{September 9, 2011}
Well, it looks like I posted Summer's Last Tribute just in time. Autumn has begun reaching out to take hold of the land. Her fingertips are upon us now, brushing lightly. I watched dozens of Canada geese fly in to land at the lake next door (and I mean dozens; last year I counted over 70 at one time, and that was only about half of what I could see). I shared the road as I walked with butterflies on their way south to warmer climes. The ones I saw the most of were the common buckeyes. And a (very) few of the leaves are also starting to turn yellow, a sign that the tree is beginning to break down and extract the nutrients from the leaves that will soon be falling. (Chlorophyll is extracted first, causing the leaves to loose their green color.)
