When The World is Watching January 13, 2021 ~ shoreacres Cliffs along Can Creek ~ Lost Maples State Natural Area Comments always are welcome. Share this:ShareEmailFacebookLike this:Like Loading...
48 thoughts on “When The World is Watching”
The eyes have it.
If your ponies had been around, there could have been some neighs, too.
Nice one, Linda
I hope those eyes belong to a friendly Monster of the Cliff. He would have been all over me in the second or two it took me to catch him peeking through the trees!
I’m sure he was friendly. At least he was willing to pose for a photo instead of skittering off into the brush!
I enjoyed seeing your cliff dwellers, Linda. I think I see two sets of eyes.
I wondered if someone would find the shy one, hanging back and a little hesitant, like a younger sibling.
For some reason, ‘sinister’ brought ‘left-handed’ to mind, and now I know why. Look what I found at the Online Etymology Dictionary:
“The Latin word [sinister] was used in augury in the sense of “unlucky, unfavorable” (omens, especially bird flights, seen on the left hand were regarded as portending misfortune), and thus sinister acquired a sense of “harmful, unfavorable, adverse.” This was from Greek influence, reflecting the early Greek practice of facing north when observing omens.
In genuine Roman auspices, the augurs faced south and left was favorable. Thus sinister also retained a secondary sense in Latin of “favorable, auspicious, fortunate, lucky.”
I was facing west when I took this photo; who knows what the Greeks or Romans would have made of that.
As Bogie said, “Here’s looking at you, kid.”
Blind Man’s Bluff! cool!
What a perfect name. I think they should add it to maps of the place. The cliff will erode away eventually, but it might be good for a couple of decades.
A good hide out for a porcupine!
I’ve never seen a porcupine in the wild — seeing this as a hideout for one never would have occurred to me. I’ll bet there are a few living in the area, though.
The eyes of Texas were upon you.
It’s no con to say Can Creek can’t contact Concan.
The eyes of Texas, indeed. Too bad I couldn’t have stayed there all the live-long day, but I had to get away. I couldn’t reach Concan, either, but maybe next time I can.
And perhaps you remember the would-be quiz show question from a television comedy show in the 1950s (Sid Caesar?): “What is the cancan?”
The answer was: “The place to put the garbage garbage.”
I don’t remember that, but I certainly remember these other 1950s can-cans. Every weekend we’d starch them and sit them upright on the basement floor to dry, with fantasies of Moulin Rouge dancing in our heads.
What’s in your first link is beyond my purview. As for the second, if any of those dancers are still alive, it’s unlikely they could go through the same antics now.
HaHa, great capture, Linda! It really does look like eye sockets staring out of a face. Wonder what made those indentations? I’m guessing they’re far too big for a simple explanation.
These cliffs had ferns growing along them because of water seepage through the rocks. I’m pretty sure that a combination of seeping water, freeze and thaw cycles, and just plain erosion has caused the pitting of the rock face. I’ve not done any reading about the geology in this area, but it looks like there might be a layer of softer sandstone there, too.
Or, it might be that there really are some rock-monsters lurking there waiting to surprise unwary hikers!
I see two pairs. It’s a pity human eyes are too often closed at the moment.
True enough. Some can’t see, some don’t wish to see, and some, having seen, prefer to close their eyes again. In “Burnt Norton,” one of Eliot’s Four Quartets, he says “humankind can’t bear very much reality.” Maybe that’s part of the explanation.
Thanks, Ellen. It made me smile when I saw it, so here it is.
“The eyes of Texas are upon you.” Actually I have no idea how that came out of my mind. It could be all wrong and I have no time to go look it up. Anyhow the photo is very interesting and I like it.
You’re the third person to see “the eyes of Texas.” I almost used that phrase from the song in the post’s title, but decided I’d wait to see if it came to mind for others. It makes sense that all of us who thought of the song are Texans. Our eyes aren’t quite as big as this, but we’re just as interesting!
Large, vacant, and sinister as noted above, or possibly in misbelief and wonder about what is transpiring in America right now. I’m going with the latter. –Curt
I built a little ambiguity into the post on purpose, and I’m not surprised you’d head off down that trail, Curt. Think of it as political pareidolia; it seems to be a common phenomenon these days.
I practice pareidolia, Linda. As you know. Even if I have to look it up. I assumed your vagueness was an invitation! –Curt
You assumed rightly, you smart little cookie, you.
Ha! Very cool!
I thought so, too. Sometimes a little fun is in order!
When the world is watching and making sad eyes at you. Evocative, for sure.
I don’t know which I prefer: a world making sad eyes, or a world rolling its eyes. To be honest, this blank stare seems somehow appropriate.
I did have a bit of a feeling that someone was watching me — and it wasn’t another hiker!
This gives new meaning to “four eyes”.And as a glasses wearer I resemble that remark. Aside from the eyes interest in this image, it is really a nice abstract and could be described as fine art. and very well seen too. I like the colors here as well, subtle yet very appealing.
When I lived in Liberia, the little brown dog I had for a while had black spots above his eyes that looked like eyebrows. The Liberians called him “that dog, him who have four eyes.” When I got my first glasses in third grade, I had to put up with the ‘four eyes’ taunt for a while, but it faded away.
I liked the color in this, too, and I especially liked the thin layer of branches that gave the impression of a ‘lurker’ without obscuring the ‘eyes.’
Oh, these DO look like eyes! Are those caves down there? Striking, regardless.
They’re not real caves; they’re just sections of cliff that have eroded away. A lot of the hill country is limestone or granite, but this looks softer, and there was a good bit of water seeping through the cliff walls, which surely helped. There were ferns growing out of them in a lot of places — very pretty!
Glad someone is keeping an eye out, One expects erosion to form something vertical assuming there must have been gravity at that time.
Not so mysterious, really. Lost Maples is laced with seeps and springs. The water, combined with freeze and thaw cycles, tends to create instability in some of the soils and cliffs. Even apparently solid rock isn’t immune; it’s not uncommon in the hill country to see road signs warning of falling rock. Whenever I stop in a road cut, I’m always cautious; those rocks lying scattered about on the ground came down sometime.
Just a tad spooky, somehow, perhaps more so in the picture than in reality. I have fond memories of my visit to Lost Maples many years ago.
It is a little spooky, at least at first glance. On the other hand, sometimes I look at it and think it just looks wistful. After all, most of the hikers who trek past it never give it a second glance; they’re too busy looking for the pretty leaves to notice this plain stretch of rock hidden behind those bare branches!
What a wonderful picture. The spirit of the hills.xxx
Now, there’s an interpretation I like. I think the spirit’s quite congenial, too!