Cheyenne and I spent a happy couple of hours New Year's Eve in the woods of No Name Key. She rooted around and I amused myself with my camera, trying to notice what I frequently only see on my winter walks. Dead sea snails? Sure....everywhere.
They tell us tin cans will last 500 years if dumped in the woods. I wonder of this car has been here fifty years and yet it has effectively disappeared back into mother earth:
Buttonwood leaves are taking on the appearance of buckshot victims. Why I could not say:
Grass is rare in the Keys and when Labradors find some in the wild it's important not to waste it. Letting the sleeping dog lie, left me to fiddle with the camera to pass the time as I had forgotten to bring the newspaper with me. 
So I took pictures:
Sea grape leaves: 
I was passed on my walk by a securely helmeted cheerful cyclist, though what he had to be cheerful about with his body tightly bound in spandex I have no idea. The thing about winter is that it's the best time to get out in the woods, but it's also the time when all these other people are crowding out the islands. I mean I actually met one other person out here all afternoon. Grand Central Station isn't in it, I tell you, when it's winter in the Keys, one might as well be in the Big City. Sniff. 
The palm frond jungle of No Name Key:
The weather was warm and slightly humid, classic pre-frontal conditions. 
Hereabouts, at 24.5 degrees North Latitude it is almost 80 degrees (27C) while in Canada and New England they are getting blasted by freezing weather that will arrive here in a few days and drop the temperature to below 60 degrees (15C). The precursors are winds shifting gradually to the south and west, increased humidity and wild cloud patterns rendering the skies hazy: 
A by-product of these southern latitudes is that spring springs at the wrong time of year. Fresh leaves are appearing on my fruit trees and in the wild, wild colors are budding among the mangroves and buttonwoods:
I didn't even bother to photograph the honeysuckle this time, there is just too much of it flowering everywhere. The bees sound drunk. Be patient, summer will return soon enough even Up North.
Hereabouts, at 24.5 degrees North Latitude it is almost 80 degrees (27C) while in Canada and New England they are getting blasted by freezing weather that will arrive here in a few days and drop the temperature to below 60 degrees (15C). The precursors are winds shifting gradually to the south and west, increased humidity and wild cloud patterns rendering the skies hazy: 
A by-product of these southern latitudes is that spring springs at the wrong time of year. Fresh leaves are appearing on my fruit trees and in the wild, wild colors are budding among the mangroves and buttonwoods:I didn't even bother to photograph the honeysuckle this time, there is just too much of it flowering everywhere. The bees sound drunk. Be patient, summer will return soon enough even Up North.
5 comments:
I think you'll find the condition of the buttonwood leaves is a natural part of decomposition ... unlike the tin can. I've found many leaves that after a few months on the ground appear to be filigreed lace and eventually they simply disappear and fade into the fauna.
Perhaps tin doesn't oxidize as fast as iron I suspect, thus the car fading into the mist faster than the tin can?
Now, I am no sailor, but I noticed you used the term Northern Latitude.
I have recently been working with GIS (geographical information systems) and Geocoding (turing addresses into Latitude and Longitude coordinate).
Most of the systems return negative numbers for south of the equator and positive for north of the equator (likewise negative for west of the meridian and positive for the east).
I now realize it is a lot of geometry and trigonometry for charting. I might have like it more in school, had they related it to sailing and charting.
Really liked the pictures today. You seem to always get unique and interesting photographs. Your comments about the tin can and car decomposing was interesting to me because we saw a fascinating show on PBS last night about Egypt and shipbuilding. Makes me wonder what future archaeologists will think when they dig up our stuff 5,000 years from now.
BTW, I rode today to work in spite of the cold.
Dear Conch:
The dog...
The snail...
The tire track on the trail.
Honeysuckle was eighteen when I left Tennessee.
That is my Key West haiku for you today. The Key West Haiku has two syllables in the first line, two syllables in the second line, six syllables in the third line, and a coarse double entendré not to exceed 11 syllables in the final line.
In traditional Key West Haiku, the final line should hint at a longing, or a reget, for a moment or an experience savored at another time, when you didn't have to pay for it. (Though in reality, you pay for everything — eventually.)
It was very inspiring to get a Key West episiode this morning that did not read like a chapter from Tolstoy, with residents trudging in the snow along an abandoned railroad track, littered with the corpses of frozen iguanas.
By the way, some enterprizing saloon keeper on the island paradise should come up with a revised version of the gin ricky, and call it the "Frozen Iguana."
Fondest regards,
Jack • reep • Toad
Twisted Roads
Dear Jack,
The "Frozen Iguana" would be a good name for a Fat Tuesday knock off / ice cream hut on the Beach. Thanks!
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