Each month, Jude hosts a colour challenge, Life in Colour. The colour for November is black and/or grey.
This may be my last contribution to this month’s colour challenge. Or possibly not if the sky keeps crying. Today, I have four photos to share. Three were taken by my True Love. I managed only one which is a damn sight more than was achieved at Cop26.
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Such is the duality of ethical debates.
Both sides can use the same arguments
to justify their position.
I really love this poem written by Canberra poet and writer, Wormsie. Wormsie writes about daily life, the natural world and our place in it, and the challenges ahead. Check her out.
Some reflections and some photos. Colours get me thinking. What else is there to do?
“Colour is the place
where our brain
and the universe meet”~Paul Cézanne
Colour Me Gold – Life In Colour
Sometimes life is solid gold.
Powerful, strong, warm.
Bends light and flows.
Green light is inefficient.
An invisibility cloak.
When gold dusts green, people pay attention.
Good old Aussie green and gold.
Green and gold light combine to make white light.
No moral in this story, only questions.
Would our story be more inclusive, if it had more earthen tones?
Without light, we need a torch to see where we are going.
Bathe in warm light. Bathe in gold.
Could this be Australia’s golden hour?
Shine a warm light, ladies and gentlemen.
Kind Regards.
Tracy.
(coming to you from Canberra, Australia’s national capital, which is located in Ngunnawal country)
For Covid’s sake, a spring procrastination and shopping poem.
Bob’s Hope
Pleased to say nothing much
is going on here in these tetchy,
dodg’em Covid days. So while I might
be quite contrary, I am certain I shall not
be overcome by questions on epidemiology.
Let me explain.
Welcome to my regular Friday song/tune day, ladies and gentlemen, where I pick a piece of music that reflects my mood or the times, to share with you.
Music when Soft Voices die (To –)
by Percy Bysshe Shelley
Music, when soft voices die, Vibrates in the memory— Odours, when sweet violets sicken, Live within the sense they quicken. Rose leaves, when the rose is dead, Are heaped for the belovèd's bed; And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone, Love itself shall slumber on.
My music selection today is Mozart’s Clarinet Concerto in A Major, K 622: II. Adagio, performed by Thomas Friedli. For J.
Kind Regards.
Tracy.
Canberra (Australia) – I’m so cold, oh so cold!
I felt anxious and grey during June, perhaps mirroring the inclement winter weather and the times, but here I am, on the eve of July. Soon the wattle will be blooming gold and the landscape will extrude from its current camo coat of green and brown.
I barely managed to pick up the camera but spurred on by my supporters, the crested pigeons, I began. Fluffed up, a crested pigeon warms up in a pocket of sun.
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I did my civic duty and had a Covid test today. Nothing serious. I have a few mild symptoms – runny nose, sore throat. Nothing to write a blog about. But, alas. Anyway, I went to a drive-in testing centre. The outside temperature was a cool 4o celcius. Kudos to all the workers who were freezing their arses off to provide this service. Anyway, anyway, I was listening to the radio and there was discussion about the significant level of vaccine hesitancy in the over 50 years age group (ie. the cohort who have been prioritised for Astra Zeneca vaccine in Australia), and the possible need for a marketing jingle to encourage vaccine uptake. Unfortunately that got me thinking. [Truly awful poetry warning]
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A poem and photo.
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Reflections of An Untidy Mind 