The nocturnal moon shines down,     

upon the newborn leaves;

hoarfrost is lurking in the shadows,

like a malingering band of thieves.


The lunar orb can only watch,

as they plan their evil spells;

while unsuspecting buds are coaxed,

from their protective shells.


Life is only a moment away,

but death is just as near;

the tiny foliage yearns to grow,

naïve to any fear.


Aurora peeks over the horizon,

frustrated rime is chased away;

it will have to wait till harvest moon,

genesis has seized the day.








You Don’t know What it’s like to be Me

You Don't Know Me
If you ain’t been thrown down by the angst of life,
If you ain’t been cheated on by a no good wife
If you ain’t been down so far you’re lower than dirt,
Then you don’t know what it’s like to be me.
If you haven’t traveled that long road to hell and back
If you ain’t lost everything and spent time living in a shack
If you don’t know what it is to give away your last shirt
Then you don’t know what it’s like to be me.
If you ain’t seen the face of God in the sky above
If you ain’t held a baby made purely of love
If you ain’t felt so lonely beyond any hurt
Then you don’t know what it’s like to be me.

The Fire in the Sky Keeps on Burning (sunset)

 Racing down the street
The setting sun tonight was glorious. Unfortunately I did not catch the fullest of it, but what I did get was beautiful. The first photo below, to the left, was taken from our yard. We live on the east side of a hill so we decided it wasn’t the best place to get our photos. So we raced up the street to the southwest and I took photos number two to the right and the photo above. Then we raced back to the north west looking for a higher hill. My daughter was the driver, that is why photo number three is a little blurry, but came out neat anyway. She drives like a bat out of you know where.
Going the other way
The sun was diving behind the horizon rather quickly so the first high clear spot we found, we took it.
Notice how the trees to the right of the center look. I have never seen that before. These photos look fake, but this is how intense it really looked. I finally got a photograph without the over head wires in it. I hope someday all poles will be gone and wires are ran under ground.
I have a friend who’s parents live in Montana at the ranch she grew up on. A movie director lived next to them. He decided to make a movie on part of their ranch. He went through and buried all the wires because it was a period movie set in the nineteenth century. So I know it can be done. By the way, her parents and neighbors ended up in the movie as neighbors and friends. This town only had two hundred residents, mostly cattle ranchers. The town grocery store was also the post office and local diner.
Back home
Back to the sunset. The next photo was taken on the way back to the house. Of course we were going a million miles an hour. But the photograph reminds me of a Vincent van Gogh. I like it, so I included it.
The last photo is when we got back to the house.  As you can see, there wasn’t much left. I am not sure if you can make out the barn or not.
It was an exciting fifteen minutes! You have to have the camera ready to go at all times, because you never know…


Unrelenting Fog

Fog is so mysterious. It can be scary, wet, suffocating, beautiful, or blinding.  It can hang low or hug the ground. It can look like cotton candy or have spiritual attributes.  However you think of fog, it is always noticeable and thought-provoking. 
Oh fog, hugging to the ground so tight,
you crept into the fields during the night.
Chilling to the bone, the wetness prevails,
loneliness, it’s companion, constantly wails.
Clinging to the trees, their fingers you grasp,
at the rising sun, an escaping gasp.
You roll across the landscape, running from fate,
only to rise higher as the morning turns late.
Hiding from us, beneath that veil,
our imaginations never fail.
Oh fog, oh fog, you mystical sight,
how you cause us such delicious fright!




There is a house down by the bay,
that even by the light of day,
it is a frightening sight.
With the shutters falling down,
the tall grass turning brown,
to the neighbors, it is a blight.

I have heard rumors for years,
that in some – put fears,
that this house had a haunt.
How easily I thought,
some people are overwrought,
but I would not be daunt.

What could make me flee,
I just had to see,
being the fool that I am.
That night I set out,
to see what the mystery was about,
unknowingly, I became the lamb.

The hour was late,
as I passed through the gate,
moonlight had already struck the moist ground.
From the window by the tree,
something was watching me,
unaware, I heard not a sound.

The gate closed with a creak,
my knees became weak,
the muscles in my stomach taut.
To the porch I stumbled,
“Don’t be craven”, I mumbled,
my courage I desperately sought.

I wanted to turn and run,
not finish what I had begun,
I felt compelled to run and hide.
Too late for these thoughts,
as the door handle I caught,
I forced myself inside.

Surveying the hall,
a large portrait on one wall,
a chair covered with a sheet.
In the middle of the room.
a winding staircase loomed,
the air smelled of bittersweet.

I stepped on the first stair,
brushing cobwebs from my hair,
the wood gave way to my weight.
Through my leg the pain shot,
a gasp in my throat caught,
my mind contemplated my fate.

A minor scrape to the knee,
I pulled myself free,
and fell back on the floor.
Then a chill passed by,
and I heard a cry,
faintly, from behind the far door.

“Who is there?” I said,
not using my head,
but then, came a reply.
“Your soul is lost I fear,
why did you come here?”
the voice said with a sigh.

“This house will never let you leave,
your lives shall weave,
the two of you will become as one.
There will be a day,
when comes yet another prey,
and still, it will not be done.”

“Why do you tell me this!”
I screamed with a hiss,
“Why are you lying to me?”
“What I say is true,
and I pity you,
because soon you will be like me.”

Forever roaming these halls,
no one hearing your calls,
none but the foolish dare to come near.
You should have listened to those afraid,
your future you made,
the moment you entered in here.”

Ignoring the lies,
I wiped my eyes,
and struggled to my feet.
Pulling at the door knob,
holding back a sob,
refusing to admit defeat.

To the window I went,
my energy nearly spent,
but the glass just wouldn’t break.
I slid to the floor,
the tears began to pour,
from this nightmare I wanted to wake.

So the stories were true,
why didn’t I listen to,
what the wise elders had to say.
I came to explore,
now I am trapped ever more,
in the house down by the bay.


Back Roads of Tennessee – a Photo Gallery

I lived on this street for a short time while waiting to move into my house.  It is a beautiful area.

Inside Cookeville city limits

In case you don’t have a clue, Cookeville is located almost midway Nashville and Knoxville on 40 Hwy. in Tennessee. It is not a large town, but it is a college town so the population fluctuates. I used to live right in the middle but have since moved to the country north of the city limits. It is a quiet town for the most part. Far less crime than most towns..
I will have a later article on other areas of Cookeville that is more in-depth. It has a lot to see. I will give more history on it. Now, on this article I just wanted to show some its beauty of Autumn.
As I said earlier, I did not grow up here, but yet it felt like home the moment I arrived. There is a town that is about thirty miles west of here that I am related to most of the population. I plan to do an article about that also. I need to take a day to go out and get some photos.

Out on the Back-Roads
There are a lot of beautiful places in Cookeville and the surrounding areas. These photographs were not taken within the city limits.
Miller Creek Road and Hunters Cove are two of my favorite places to shoot Autumn. It really is hard to shoot all there is here in Tennessee. I just make sure my camera is with me at all times.

Sometimes when I am driving down these back roads, John Denver‘s “Country Roads” starts floating through my brain. Other times when I have no idea where I am and the road is barely the width of my jeep, I start hearing the banjos from “Deliverance”. That sends a chill down my spine. I quietly lock my doors.
That rarely happens…. anymore. Tennessee people are nice people. At least in the country towns they are. I rarely go to Nashville or Knoxville. I have been through Chattanooga many times. There is a little town down just north of there called Soddy Daisy. Isn’t a neat name? Rolls off the tongue, Soddy Daisy.
“Where are you from?”
“Well I be from Soddy Daisy!”
“Ain’t that something.”
I always picture a soddy field with a bunch of daisies in it. They have a place there that serves the best fried chicken livers you could ever want. I don’t remember the name of the restaurant, but I could drive you there.
Have you ever tried to get directions in a small town?
“Well…. you go down here a far piece and turn left where Mable Johnson used to live, then…..”
I come from a small town, I have been guilty of giving directions like that. If you really want to know, ask a kid, they ride their bike everywhere and know everyone.
“Take me home, now country roads….”