Old and venerable, we are protected by a vigorous historic district, the Fort Clinch State Park and the Greenway. The latter weaves through the middle of the Island keeping flora and fauna safe and sound.
The best way to discover the hidden treasures is to walk, Did you know that a long time ago this was a favorite haunt of pirates? But, more on that for another time. Walking is a way to let secrets come upon you. Last weekend, after replenishing our produce supply at the downtown Farmer's Market, we set out on another journey, this time around the streets in and around our precious downtown area. Camera in hand we found sights we missed when driving.
This is the first installation of more Nooks and Crannies posts.
The blue caught our eye, as it was meant to do...and don't forget the metal frog hanging on to the edge of the birdbath. But, more was yet to be seen! Suddenly, raising our eyes we saw something that delighted the artist in us....where it is in each of us.
Snugged up to in a bitty little house, much loved and caressed with artistic notions...a window treatment to make one want to do the same thing. Eight years we have been here and somehow
we never noticed. I am not going to tell you where this is, up to you to discover on your own.
These are faux windows: hard to see in my photograph, but there are black and white photographs
behind each window pane. The shutters are recycled and cut with sweet half moons. Ah, to meet
the person behind it all and to hope that the creativity rubs off.
I love old things
Weather-beaten houses with moss grown roofs
Where memories of generations cling
Old china fragile as the lily hands
That painted blossoms long ago
Brasses from those dimly lighted shops
Where skull-capped ancients peddled hammered ware...
Old books where scattered margin notes
Are indices to history never told
Old people who have aged like ivory
Made beautiful by time's poetic touch
Old loves that remember music
Are sweeter as their memory grows old
And pictures on whose colors time has laid
A hand that tempers them to golden tones...
Old Things: a poem by Margi on her blog post