Textures

One year ago yesterday, I published this post on Frank Liske Park in my hometown.  After looking back on 2012, I thought it would be fun to go back to the park the same day one year later and take some new photos!  I can tell how much I've learned about my camera since then (which was around the time I had first purchased it) and I can see so many new things that I had overlooked the first time.  Growing up, my Dad and I used to go to the park on countless Sunday afternoons when the sun was shining and the sky was clear, just to get some fresh air and have a little adventure.  So we took the opportunity to go together again and see where the trail would lead us this time!  

Going to the park in the winter is always more interesting to me, because without all the pretty flowers and sprouting grass, the texture of nature is more prominent than the decoration.  Every where you look you can see vibrant colors and bold patterns in the hot pink berries, periwinkle fungi or the red speckled bark.  It's hard not to find the beauty in a tiny mushroom or in the mint green moss catching the sunlight with so many small elements attracting your attention.

Walking through the last stretch of trail we stopped to visit the dock, which is home to paddle boats in spring time but during the winter month becomes home base for the flock of Canadian Geese.  Leaving the park after three hours of strolling through a bit of nature, I had so many pictures I could barely choose which ones to post, which probably explains why I included so many, but I hope you enjoy them!

I've also started posting several of these photos, and a few extra ones I didn't include, with free color schemes attached and available for use on my page here.   Happy Adventuring!

Nature for the Soul

          There are few places in this world that have a special part of my heart.   Places where I grew up and that have become woven in the fabric of my being, shaping the person I've become.  If you ever pass through Harrisburg, North Carolina you should take a walk down the trails of Frank Liske Park.  

          My Dad and I would take walks there on Sunday afternoons when I was little.  We'd have our own family adventures, for a few hours, exploring the trees, the flowing stream, and the spaces in between.  It seemed so endless then, the trees too tall to see the tops of, the water so high I could bury my feet in the sand, and the beauty of the wild violets so pristine that I dared to even touch them.  Now when I walk through the woods it brings me back to that feeling, that anything was possible, that the world had so many special places to share, and that it was a secret only I knew.

          Frank Liske has seen many parts of my life, in some ways I grew up with those trees.  After the afternoon adventures, it was field competitions with classmates and jogging with friends in high school.  The trees heard sweethearts talking about futures that seemed so far away, and heart to hearts with girlfriends about the occasional prom date and their greatest desires.   Then it was bringing home friends from college to meet them and to be playful again between projects and GPAs.   I can't help but think of the people who've been in my life that I've shared the trails with, some who came and quickly left, and others who will forever be in my heart. 

         For today's nostalgia,  I took myself back to being a junior in high school and I seeing my entire future ahead of me.  I knew exactly what I wanted and how I was going to get it.  After a walk through these tree on a summer afternoon, a friend and I sat on the porch with their family, and when their parents asked me what I was going to do, I said I was going to be the editor of the yearbook senior year, I was going to receive an early acceptance from UNCG, which I had already applied for, and then I was going to graduate with a degree in design four years later.  

          So here I am, those four years later, walking through the trees and I no longer have any idea what the future ahead of me is.  I still know what I want and an idea of how to get there, but its not a rigid plan of do's and don'ts on a checklist anymore.  It's an overwhelming feeling of helplessness, not being able to see the future, not being able to make what you want happen instantaneously.  The only thing left is the moment in front of me, this very moment.  So I took this afternoon to listen to the trees again, and to let the silence of the park envelop me,  to touch the textures allowing them to linger on my fingertips,  and hoping the crispness of the air will seep into my veins giving restoration to my soul so I can let that feeling of endlessness back in.  Because at 22 I'm on another adventure, and the only thing in front of me is a future.

(This rock was my thinking spot where I could sit for hours)

  

 

Reflection on the Stream