The light is different here. In the fields and forests around me in Ireland I am mostly under muted grey skies, downright dark grey skies and bleached out light grey skies. (I won't even start about the rain!) Here in Australia while the sun is clear and strong, it is gone by 5.30, so from early afternoon shadows grow long and people move . . .
~Transported by a plush French cafe~
Was it the purple upholstery or the gold painted furniture? Was it the light streaming in from the early morning Sydney streets? Was it the perfectly coiffed French waitress, all the way from Brittany? Whatever it was, the shadowy interior of this cafe transported me to where the coffee was perfect, the home made marshmallow . . .
~The eyes behind the lens~
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 . . .
~ 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 . . .
~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 . . .
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 . . .
Relentlessly snowy Berlin
I'm just back from a relentlessly snowy Berlin. 10 times the size of Paris with an ever growing and developing creative community. Iconic monuments, grungy clubs and cafes, graffiti on everything, and always reminders of the Cold War. They may have tried to kill off diversity in the 1930's but today Berlin is one of most multi-cultural . . .
The Mare’s breakfast!
When would he arrive with breakfast? The snow had settled as it rarely ever does. The hours were passing and the icy grass was none too appetising. The mare heard the engine before the foal even realised that at last he was on his way. Bale after bale of warm hay, thrown over the hedge. Steam rose from it as they both dived . . .
