My world is messy, complicated and dark. I seek the shadows. The dark is where I think, rest and play. The dark is music and art. It gives depth to light. The sun is now, but darkness is tomorrow. The sun is here, but darkness looks beyond. Day is youthful bravado, night is as old as time.
Guest host of this week’s Lens-Artists challenge, Anne Sandler, has invited photographers to focus on the small things and she has provided a number of useful tips for macro/micro and close-up photography. Thanks, Anne. Unfortunately, I got carried away and so I might not have stuck strictly to the brief, preferring once more to go with arty-farty rather than teeny weeny. Thankfully my True Love had something up his … oh, never mind!
I have redeemed myself though with some wee poetry – haiku, of course – and some vulgar photography humour. My friend has asked me to keep writing and who am I to refuse?
October in Canberra (Australia) – We scent a change. Spring is so poetic.
It has been six days since Canberra recorded an infection of Covid-19. Canberrans send their best wishes for the gentleman’s recovery. With only one active case in my small city, my attention has turned to living.
It has been a relatively wet and stormy month in the national capital – the wettest October in 44 years. On those days when the sun shone, I focused on my garden and on my mosaic projects. For these reasons, and due to magpie hazards, I have had little time for exploration, but it being spring, there are always flowers, and wouldn’t you know, not one rainy day photo in sight. Here’s October.
Bird poetry – a pandemic distraction. Semi-infrequent opportunity to join in. Try it. Create a pingback to this post with your bird poem. Really awful poetry welcome. Good poetry welcome too.
As a bird lover, I feel slightly intimidated about venturing into bird poetry, particularly poems about gulls. This topic has already been covered by many famous poets over the centuries so I am unlikely to contribute any words that haven’t been written before. The inspiration for this short poem therefore comes not from those wonderful poets, but from the seagulls themselves and from my camera. That is as it should be.
I came across some Silvereyes visiting a garden in my neighbourhood. Luckily I had my camera with me. The Silvereyes were too busy eating to pay attention to me. By contrast, they nip through my own yard at great speed. That might have something to do with my three dogs of course.