This picture was taken on Hunting Island State Park, South Carolina. I wrote this poem that very day;.after being on this island that still is untouched by man. The spiritual sensing was phenomenol. It is a raw beach full of life and beauty and man's hand is nowhere to be seen except in the small lighthouse that has been there for over a hundred years. If you get near Beaufort, South Carolina, Hunting Island State Park is another twenty miles east and worth the drive.

Stretches of coastline chopped into islands Dying old trees living in silence Wonderful laid back southern day Strumming my heart in peculiar ways An Osprey out dining from tree to tree Flying his dinner between him and me Off in the distance the Sandpipers dance Amid the tide influx with a sea foam chance Pelicans, Terns and Laughing Gulls Rotting old tree trunks with old stumps that bulge Making this Sunday more special than most With footprints in time along the East Coast Shadow of hands wrapped in each other Moments of grace as lips reach to smother Words from a memory wrapped all in years Fighting to somehow hold back the tears Seconds stand still on wings of a whim Shudders are open to catch it on film Moments are full while recalling time When long-legged damsels tasted a rhyme Back in the old days when hearts ran free Open then shut… longing to be With time in a capsule refreshed anew Chasing the tears as yesterday flew Hunting Island is lost in her thought A hoop-skirted Rebel with her Swamp Fox Mysterious meanderings breaking the day Along barrier islands in play Hosting a memory of days gone by As romance gets caught in low misted sighs Chasing a dream of Dixie and ghosts Dangling in time along the East Coast Nature’s old trees and ebb tides sashay Making their moment important today. Copyrighted 2005