Just back from a nice long walk with Lexi in Shunga Park. It is really a beautiful morning. Made a few quick pictures with the camera on my phone. I like using it in these situations where I am just out and about enjoying being outdoors. I even shared one on Instagram which I like to do in these instances. It was a quick one of the acorn which are showing up in buckets on the oaks right now. Wow, that time already!
What crossed my mind moments ago and the reason for a journal entry this morning is because of a post I shared on my facebook page just a couple of hours ago. It is of a picture made a few years ago that I just happened to come across while scrolling through the lightroom library. I thought it rather fitting. It was made the morning of July 4, 2008. My how time flies I initially thought it was just a few years ago instead of 6 years ago!
What struck me about this post was a comment made from a long time friend. It is simply the begining of the poem “Trees” by Joyce Kilmer. I immediatly employed Google to find the poem and read it. Not only is it fitting for my intention, I found it rather moving when I read it.
I got up early that morning in 2008 and ventured out to Lake Shawnee in hopes of some early morning finds to photograph. After parking I began walking the shoreline looking at the plants poking up from just off shore. What was somewhat surprising was the fog hanging over the water. A misty almost pastel look to the air. As the daylight grew and the sun was just about to appear I thought I should find a place with some sort of composition that would include the rising sun through the foggy air.
This oak tree was a main attraction of the area. One can not tell the beautiful lines and form it has just by driving by. But when you stop and look at it in the right light and with the right background it becomes quite stunning. As if intentionally put in this spot for just such a sunrise. Needless to say I spent the next few minutes making captures of this scene. It has long been one of my favorite. I have visited it many times over the last 6 years, remembering that foggy July morning. As if it is an old friend that forever waits on my return.
Trees, by Joyce Kilmer
I think that I shall never see
A poem as lovely as a tree.
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the earth’s sweet flowing breast;
A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;
A tree that may in Summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;
Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.
Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.