What is the nature of art?

"All art is an imitation of nature." -
-- Lucius Annaeus Seneca

Bark chip along trail.

Above: Pine tree with matching carving.

Pine borer?

Hemlock woods

It almost seems a shame.
That these beautiful hemlocks were the backdrop to our wildflower hunt last weekend.
And that in autumn, when we seek fall color, they stand, again, in the background--a constant in the season of change.
Their deep color, dark and quiet.

I walked past each small trunk, a display of curls and rounded flaking bark.

Each so different from the last, yet obviously the same.


Like fingerprints--the furrows swirl.

From the darkness of their woods, we found a sunny spot for our lunch.
And looked above to find the that a bright blue sky made them glow a brilliant green.


The sky-- the perfect backdrop for their beauty.

Thanks to Wigger's World for hosting Skywatch Friday each week at his site!

First flowers of the woods

I always look forward to the "firsts" of the season--the first calling frog, the first hungry hummingbird, the first sunning turtle.
And when the winter has cast the woods in brown for so long, I eagerly search for the first wildflowers of spring.
Those bright, joyful faces peeking through with such pure color. Yet unmuddied by rain. Their tender freshness lovely against the weathered leaves of the forest floor. The new life born of old.
It helps me mark time.

We lingered along the trail at Lake Katharine, finding ourselves in the midst of them--and wondered how it was that we alone enjoyed them there.
A man hurried past and called back over his shoulder to ask why I carried a camera.
Perhaps it is his habit to walk these trails each day. The lovely faces looking back at him now so commonplace that he does not need to pause to take them in.
Or maybe it is that he hurries past, never knowing they watch from beside the trail.

Virginia Spring Beauties

Round-lobed Hepatica

Bloodroot

Dutchmen's-breeches

First faces of spring

A beautiful sunny Sunday.
The first faces of spring are peeking from beneath a layer of sand by the creek.
Virginia Bluebells--their buds ready to burst forth, leaves hinting of so much color waiting within.


Some very tiny feet have left tracks here, too, before disappearing down his hole.
Hmm.

Revisiting Lake Katharine

It seems hard to believe.
Just last Sunday we walked in warm temperatures through Lake Katharine’s magnificent landscape, a preserve, unusual and strikingly beautiful.

Through hemlock woods, sleeping quietly beneath oak leaf blankets.

This Sunday, our weatherman is forecasting an “arctic front.”

I’m glad for the many pictures I took away with me, and the reminder they are, that even though the rural farmland surrounding me is vanishing, I live at the edge of beautiful places that will remain.
Places I can visit--for a day, and revisit--in an instant.

Sandstone cliffs surround Lake Katharine's protected habitat. Within the rock, rounded quartz pebbles remain—cemented by time, washed into the sea which covered most of Ohio 300 million years ago.
Now, fallen free as a result of weathering, they dot the trails—bright white, easily seen in the darkened preserve.
Pocks, bumps, swirls—sculpted by the elements, smoothed by the creeks have become toeholds for the smallest lichens,

the towering trees.



Could it be, it will be even more beautiful in spring?

A taste of something wonderful

When I think of “preserves,” I imagine something special. A creation standing apart from others similar—made a treasure by the value of its contents. Usually of small size—and, often a gift.

Lake Katharine State Nature Preserve, is just that.
And, although many would save it for a spring walk, set it aside for a warm, sunny morning to admire the many endangered wildflowers within--or a summer hike, under the shade of the bigleaf magnolias, while little waterfalls cascade through patches of mountain laurel and blueberries from sandstone cliffs.
We ventured into the cool, dark hemlock woods on an ordinary winter day—and treated ourselves to its wonder.
The filtered light, even in winter, creates a special place--a special feeling of calm within these walls.

Undisturbed in time, the verdigris on pine bark, its patina.

Fallen trees, their wood now shades of mahogany, are held--feathery fingers of moss, reaching, weaving.

The old stand with the new--sporophytes standing above the dense, mossy bed, crimson threads in the forest fabric.



Mosses and liverworts, thousands strong, building microhabitats for the smallest lives.




Nurturing the next generation.

Young hemlock standing in mossy bed of fallen tree.

Mosses and liverworts are unidentified. The thousands to choose from discouraged me from attempting it--please feel free to help out!