Far from familiar meandering lanes, I am here in the midst of the dramatic lines of Sydney. Strong diagonals on the Bridge, soaring curves on the Opera House, tiny human forms a reminder of our presence. A woman tied to a harness sets out on the climb. It will take three hours and 189 . . .
Wish you were here in Sydney
Wish you were here, the surf's up....... Wish you were here, life on the ocean wave....... Wish you were here, tis a dreamy view...... Wish you were here, the flowers are so exotic...... Wish you were here, although it's autumn and the shadows are . . .
~ Mementos ~
I'm in Micky Macs place. It's been disturbed by party goers, doors open to the yard, a gentle sea breeze blowing through windows, cracked and broken. I once visited him here in his smokey room, walls blackened from the wood fire. I sat on a settle bed in a wollen blanket while he sat on that once pink arm chair with a once yellow . . .
~ Purple ~
~ Passionate today about intoxicating PURPLE that's all~ . . .
~ How to be a photographer ~
At first light, let the sounds and colours of the morning enter you. Rise when the animals take breakfast. Over coffee keep a steady hand on a long lens, chaffinches might be dropping by. Or go out into the frosty dawn, well wrapped up and remember your key this time! At the peak of the day open the kitchen door and watch . . .
~Tending to a nest amongst the pinkest fritillaries~
While meditating on dewy daffodils and the pinkest fritillaries underfoot, I see her swooping in. Even with a dozen or so humans chatting beneath her nest, she carries on incessantly. Over and back, a short stop on the fence post and one final dive under a window ledge. Carrying more than she can easily manage (enthusiasm and necessity) she keeps . . .
~Just a moment on the road to the mountain~
I wandered off the route and instead drove towards the Comeraghs. Now I was going to be late. But at least I was living dangerously! On the boreen I caught a glimpse of the mountain through a gate. The bright morning drew me up through the rise of the land and the cloud skimming the ridge. The occasional . . .
~Myths, ransom and limits~
There's a bit of a warrior queen in me that wants to protect my creative space. If I could make a moat of distance between me and the world I would do it. Barricading myself into a turret room and staying there for as long as it took or until I was thoroughly weary of it. I also know that no sooner had I closed the door, than I would weep for . . .
~ And suddenly all bets are off~
At first it's tentative. One foot in, one foot out. The icy winds don't help. The community has retreated. Keeping their heads down. Winter is steadfast in it's stagnation. Then suddenly all bets are off. We start to re-emerge, stand on corners and chat, bend down and pull a few weeds from the path, smell the primroses. Spring has arrived . . .
Basking in a golden blaze of colour
It fills the rocky hill outside the window. Where there has been such little growth so far, a smoldering blaze of flowers all contained in frightening thorny branches. The sun warms the flowers so that their sweetest coconut scent fills the fields. For the first time in weeks there is promise . . .
