My mind classifies hammocks as low, earthy, dense with the smell of fresh rain or dried grasses. This particular hammock though sticks in my mind with a smell akin to my grandfather's workshop: sappy Pine. The freshness from the hot Florida heat slightly crisps the outer bark of looming Pines to release this fragrant note. Crunch beneath my feet reinforce the presence of scattered cones along the path and nettles that have dropped for months on end. Blackroot have sprouted from recent patches of burn highlighted by the celestial swaths of sun gleaming through the trees. Previous trips led me towards the left off towards the edge of spanning pasture and grasses with random Oak stands making home to Blue Gray Gnatcatchers, White Eyed Vireo, and Eastern Phoebe. This particular day the sun was high above the clouds with piercing accuracy. I fled towards the right in refuge of more mossy dense Oak hammocks. Small vegetation corralled twin Oaks, their branches arched towards...