Morning in the Swamp, Day Before Christmas

.

PRICKLY WILD FLORIDA HOLLY WITH RED BERRIES JUST IN TIME FOR CHRISTMAS

Wild Florida Holly ⓒBearspawprint2014

Wild Florida Holly ⓒBearspawprint2014

After three days and four nights of heavy downpours, there is a pause in the rain. All the rain softened an already soft spot in the porch floor, which I fell through. But Heroic Mighty Old Swamp Lady, I hobbled in for my camera, and hobbled down to see how high the river had gotten, so far. More water from upstream will arrive soon. The predictions say that Christmas, tomorrow, will be sunny. How convenient is that?

Click on photos to enlarge

December 24 Dawn, Workshop lean-to roof  ⓒBearspawprint2014

December 24 Dawn, Workshop lean-to roof ⓒBearspawprint2014

.

River is already in the trees, this is good because the water will have a chance to soak in. ⓒBearspawprint2014

River is already in the trees, this is good because the water will have a chance to soak in. ⓒBearspawprint2014

.

The river is already over the banks and in the the trees.  This is good because it will have a chance to soak in.   ⓒBearspawprint2014

The river is already over the banks and in the the trees. This is good because it will have a chance to soak in. ⓒBearspawprint2014

.

High Water

I was standing close to the back of the water curve, between the two trees, pictured in the photo below, to take some of the “Rainy Day Walk” photos.

ⓒ Bearspawprint  2014

ⓒ Bearspawprint 2014

 

There was no light rain to keep the skeets away, yesterday evening, while I was snapping photos. With all of the high water, those little whiners are quite happy, so are the crawdads.  If I want the light to reflect across the water’s surface I have to wait until early evening.  Earlier in the day the light is not right, the water under the trees appears only as darkness.  I suspect that someone informed the mosquitoes ahead of time.

I saw the wake of something BIG swim away, but I didn’t see what it was.

Whenever the floods go down, the land is  different.  15 years ago there was a deep ravine and a high sandy dry place beside it, in front of where the swing is pictured, that was  the shortest route to walk to a sandy swimming beach with nice willows for sitting in to picnic.   It was about 1/4 mile to the river.   That changed, and changes again every year.   By observing the still appearing surface you cannot tell that some places are 20 ft., and more, deep, and some are only 2 ft.   The current is also not apparent on the placid surface, but follows the unknown, changing contours of the hidden muddy ground .

 

 

 

Crawdad Hole – DOC WATSON

 

 

April Morning

Every Day Is Earth Day

THRESHOLD

.
.
Who is she, wandering amongst the thorns,
Growing old, gifting flesh to desolate time?
She knows even private memory
Will be washed by floods and death.
.
Wild thorns trees, brambles,
Twisting sticker vines,
Sweet scented with the
Pain of lost wishes are overgrown
With barbed memories, preferred
Forgotten. Awareness and remembering
Are pricked by blooded heart gifts,
Pooling in the forest floor hollows.
.
Drifts of dreams, forest litter,
Almost forgotten promises, collected loss,
Waits in piles of pain, hills of sorrow.
Curling growth fills, unaware, the cracks
And broken hollow places in storm
Damaged hearts worn by work and care.
.
Thunder warning rumbles
Through tree tops, through
Whispered greedy wishes and
Songs of forgotten loves.
Ravines and streams and words and thoughts
Are becoming impenetrable with
The gathering thorny anguish.
The source springs of hope are dammed
With dead fall sacrifice and thrown away
Blessings, talents, gifts, the
Unrecognized offerings of love.
.
Checked by screams and wailing music,
Until a threshold overflowing
With tears and spring rain, thawed
Memory, becomes a drumming pulse beating
Against the heaped and mounded suffering.
Foolishly ignored, the overwhelming
Floods of grief shall submerge the
Hopeless wasting chaos tangled wanting.
Waves of mud and regret and sorrow shall inundate,
In rivers of history and flooded eons,
The tick tock schools and factory farms,
Chemical meat, irrigated with disciplined loss,
Fertilized with composted hearts and souls
Worked with waste and hurt and war,
Foods for deadened lost minds,
Dressed in consumer fiction,
Until flooding waters bury it all.
.
Buried by the muddy waters of time;
Fear, hubris, avarice, neglect,
Piles of spent hopes, all shall be swept away
In eons of keening ancient grief.
Dikes of indifference are no protection
From the surging flood, the swirling
Spiraling time carrying away the
Drifts of discarded dreams and
The mud mounded suffering.
.
Who is she wandering amongst the thorns,
Growing old, gifting flesh to desolate time?
She knows even private memory
Will be washed in murky history.
Again the source springs of hope will be
Stopped with drifts of dead dreams, and
Again the anguish will build until the
Threshold is reached and the breakout
Flooded rivers of grief and regret wash it all away.
.
.
Bear … 04.16.2014
ⓒ Bearspawprint
.
.

Caiman Invasion in Puerto Rico

Repeating Islands

Puerto Rico Catching _Grat (4)

When heavy rains begin to pelt a flood-prone neighborhood along Puerto Rico’s north coast, people start sharpening their knives and preparing their lassoes.

The floods herald the arrival of caimans, a close relative of the alligator, whose population has exploded in and around the lagoon next to Los Naranjos neighborhood in the coastal city of Vega Baja, the Associated Press reports.

The scaly reptiles have been spotted prowling around schools and crawling into flooded yards after rains, causing both widespread panic and curiosity in the community.

Calls to government officials to help catch the reptiles and take measures to prevent further flooding have been futile. So now, the residents of Los Naranjos have been forced to face their fears and become caiman catchers themselves in this community of scarce resources where some still ride horses bareback as transportation. Among the rudimentary equipment at their disposal: Wire, duct tape and metal…

View original post 855 more words