Fog, Fragments, and the In-Between
Haynes Creek.
Haynes Creek, a six-mile stretch of water threading Lake Eustis to Lake Griffin, hides in plain sight. From the road, it doesn't even register. This morning, the fog hung low, pressing the world into a muffled hush, though the birds refused to be quiet, their calls cutting through the stillness.
Few benches tucked beneath sprawling oaks, their limbs heavy with moss, and a swing perched over the canal, swaying slightly as if someone had just left. Crossing the bridge to Blount's Island, and the mood shifts. A narrow trail forks left and right, hugging the canal’s edge, leading deeper into the creek.
But not everything here whispers serenity. Scattered trash... Some trees wear graffiti like rough tattoos. Crumpled aluminum foil makes you suspect someone might’ve been cooking more than just meals. It’s the kind of place where the wildness isn’t just in the landscape but in the people who slip through it.
And still, the beauty refuses to let go. The water catches reflections blurring the hard lines, softening even the uglier parts, like the creek is trying to remind you that nothing stays sharp forever. Places, like people, are rarely just one thing... Serene or broken, beautiful or damaged, holding contradictions like the fog holds the light. They’re all of it, all at once.
Holding contradictions.
