In the Time Before Color

By late fall the leaves have already abandoned the cypress and other hardwoods of Silver Springs, and Spanish moss hangs from the trees like the pale ghosts of highwaymen from roadside gibbets. The spring waters run clear as gin beneath the moss, and the tropical reflections they cast in the late day sun all remain etched in heart and memory as the very definition of serenity—likely why manatees vacation there. A beautiful, haunting, and very southern work of art.