Simply Eye Candy

Before the rain started this week, there was a chance to snap a few pictures of a spot most just zip past. These shots were taken of the Annisquam River / Little River (not sure where one part stops and the other begins!) behind Nichols Candy in Gloucester.

Nichols Candy opened in this location next to
the A. Piatt Andrew Bridge in 1954!

Simply Eye Candy

C_A_B

Simply Little Ice

Little River in February should probably be renamed Little Ice.

No boating here for a few more weeks.

Little River iced over.

Simply Little Ice

C_A_B

Simply Little Gazing

I drove by Little River this morning and thought as I do almost every time I drive by, "That would make a nice picture." Today, I turned around, came back and snapped a few.

It's hard to imagine, looking at the peacefulness in these pictures, that it's located on a busy road, beside the train bridge, across from the water treatment plant.

Truly one of Gloucester's secrets.
There's beauty peeking out everywhere.
Take the time to stop and enjoy it!

A Gloucester man who had a plan. Thanks, Stubby!

Simply Little Gazing

C_A_B

Simply Ducky

New Year's Day at Little River proved to be a little bit chilly, especially with the fresh coating of snow.

Postcard anyone?

Even the ducks were huddling together.

Here's a graph of the outside temperatures (in Fahrenheit) over the past few days from a Little River Weather Station.

Simply Ducky

C_A_B

Simply November

The final weekend of November brought nice days and clear skies. Here are a few images of Little River as the calendar page flips.

Be sure to click on each image to see the larger version.

November
by William Cullen Bryant

YET one smile more, departing, distant sun!
One mellow smile through the soft vapoury air,
Ere, o'er the frozen earth, the loud winds ran,
Or snows are sifted o'er the meadows bare.
One smile on the brown hills and naked trees,
And the dark rocks whose summer wreaths are cast,
And the blue Gentian flower, that, in the breeze,
Nods lonely, of her beauteous race the last.
Yet a few sunny days, in which the bee
Shall murmur by the hedge that skim the way,
The cricket chirp upon the russet lea,
And man delight to linger in thy ray.
Yet one rich smile, and we will try to bear
The piercing winter frost, and winds, and darkened air.

November
by Hartley Coleridge

THE mellow year is hasting to its close:
The little birds have almost sung their last,
Their small notes twitter in the dreary blast --
That shrill-piped harbinger of early snows; --
The patient beauty of the scentless rose,
Oft with the morn's hoar crystal quaintly glassed,
Hangs a pale mourner for the summer past,
And makes a little summer where it grows; --
In the chill sunbeam of the faint brief day
The dusky waters shudder as they shine;
The russet leaves obstruct the straggling way
Of oozy brooks, which no deep banks define,
And the gaunt woods, in ragged, scant array,
Wrap their old limbs with sombre ivy-twine.

Simply November

C_A_B