Nothing catches the light quite like Spanish moss drifting and swaying from live oaks or blackwater with its tannin coral hues. Some of the Saw Palmettos had their tips bleached or shaped into arrow nubs by fire. All this with Stephen Foster chiming in at ten, two and four from the bell tower at this Florida State Park which was named in honor the man who wrote,Way Down upon the Suwannee River. He was actually from somewhere up North, but fell in love with the nostalgia and romance of Southern landscapes. Maybe he too was searching for transcendence by connecting with nature like the Hudson River Painters. It was a fitting end to my second trip in The Turtle. My last stop was downtown Atlanta to visit my cousin, Gordon Davis and his wife, Billie. Shades of Scarlet O'Hara were sighing in the sunset.
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