flat as a pancake, i tell you, starting below macon ---
the road from waycross to folkston along the eastern side of the okefenokee and the great pine and cypress forests that flank it are mighty fine, even if the pines are just another commodity to be grown and harvested --- the stretches of burned-over swamp from a year or so ago went on for miles 
Posted by
tomitron
at
2/23/2012 09:13:00 PM
Each of us is all the sums he has not counted: subtract us into nakedness and night again, and you shall see begin in Crete four thousand years ago the love that ended yesterday in Texas.
The seed of our destruction will blossom in the desert, the alexin of our cure grows by a mountain rock, and our lives are haunted by a Georgia slattern, because a London cutpurse went unhung. Each moment is the fruit of forty thousand years. The minute-winning days, like flies, buzz home to death, and every moment is a window on all time.
john northbrooke, c. 1570
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