I despair of being able to convey to any reader my own idea of the beauty of Sydney Harbour, wrote Anthony Trollope. I feel that way about the May River Bluff in Bluffton, SC.
seen anything in life more wonderful the way sun floats into clouds
May River from the Calhoun Street Dock, Bluffton, SC, October 17, 2026.
Have you ever seen anything in your life more wonderful than the way the sun, every evening, relaxed and easy, floats toward the horizon and into the clouds or the hills, or the rumpled sea, and is gone– and how it slides again out of the blackness, every morning, on the other side of the world, like a red flower streaming upward on its heavenly oils, say, on a morning in early summer, at its perfect imperial distance– and have you ever felt for anything such wild love– do you think there is anywhere, in any language, a word billowing enough for the pleasure that fills you, as the sun reaches out, as it warms you as you stand there, empty-handed– or have you too turned from this world– or have you too gone crazy for power, for things?
The Sun by Mary Oliver in New and selected poems by Mary Oliver (Beacon Press: Boston, 1992).
fog coverage and density remain greatest near mainstem rivers
Fog on the May River from the Calhoun Street Dock, Bluffton, SC 2-28-2026
Beaufort County Sheriff’s Office Dense Fog Advisory: Patchy dense fog across southeast Georgia and the SC Lowcountry will gradually dissipate through 11 AM this morning. The fog coverage and density should remain the greatest near mainstem rivers, especially the Altamaha, Ogeechee, and Savannah Rivers. The fog may remain locally dense, reducing visibilities on area roadways.
Instructions: If driving, slow down and leave extra distance ahead of you in case a sudden stop is needed.
In the essay The Decay of Lying by Oscar Wilde (New York, Lamb publishing Co. 1909), Mr. Wilde wrote about fog:
Where, if not from the impressionists, do we get those wonderful brown fogs that come creeping down our streets, blurring the gas lamps and changing the houses into monstrous shadows?
To whom, if not to them and their master, do we owe the lovely silver mists that brood over our river, and turn to faint forms of fading grace curved bridge and swaying barge.
The extraordinary change that has taken place in the climate of London during the last ten years is entirely due to a particular school of Art.
At present people see fogs, not because they are fogs, but because poets and painters have taught them the mysterious loveliness of such effects.
There may have been fogs for centuries in London.
I dare say there were. But no one saw them, and so we know nothing about them.
They did not exist until Art had invented them.
Now, it must be admitted, fogs are carried to excess.
take hold of the hope hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure
Adapted from the Bible passage at Hebrews 6:17-19 (NIV).
Because God wanted to make the unchanging nature of his purpose very clear to the heirs of what was promised, he confirmed it with an oath.
God did this so that, by two unchangeable things in which it is impossible for God to lie, we who have fled to take hold of the hope set before us may be greatly encouraged.
We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure.
stood in the doorway where the sun’s last rays faded in brilliant display
At Sunset
I stood in the doorway at evening, And I looked to the hills far away Where the sun’s last rays seemed to linger, Ere they faded in brilliant display.
Yes, lingered in beautiful splendor, And the scene was rare to behold, A pale blue sky was its back-ground, With stretches of pink and gold.
What wonder that Nature’s rare beauty So inspires the soul and thrills Our beings with tender emotions, As we look far away to the hills!
To the “hills” of which “David” has spoken, “From whence comes my help,” said he, And we have the same blest assurance, As we gaze on their majesty.
And we think of the Power who formed them, They seem like a tower of defence To protect and to ward off the evil Until we depart and go hence;
Where the sunlight fades not, but lingers, And to-night my waiting soul thrills As I stand in the doorway at sunset, As I look far away to the hills.
At Sunset by Olivia Ward Bush-Banks published in the book, Driftwood by Olivia Ward Bush-Banks, (Atlantic Printing Co., Providence, R.I., 1914).
According to Wikipedia: Olivia Ward Bush-Banks (née Olivia Ward; February 27, 1869 – April 8, 1944) was an American author, poet and journalist of African-American and Montaukett Native American heritage. Ward celebrated both of her heritages in her poetry and writing. She was a regular contributor to the Colored American magazine and wrote a column for the New Rochelle, New York publication, the Westchester Record-Courier.
The Banks established and ran the Bush-Banks School of Expression in Chicago, which became a place for black artists to gather and nurture their art. Actors and musicians gave recitals and performances at the school. Ward continued her artistic endeavors, focusing on drama. She also worked teaching drama in the Chicago public school system.
