52 rolls

Year in, and year out, boats sit at their moorings, rising and falling, or turning with each change of the tide, on the Myall River at Teagardens.

Dec 2015 Teagardens 045F1 Fomapan100 Xtol(1.3)+paRodinal(1.160) 8 Moorings

Pelicans perch on poles, parade on the broken dock, and across the river boats seem more likely to be boarded by seagulls than their owners.

Dec 2015 Teagardens 045F1 Fomapan100 Xtol(1.3)+paRodinal(1.160) 5 Perches for pelicans

Near the police station a tumble down houseboat that could claim to be the local Post Office floats alongside a dock. Sea mail goes very slowly these days, especially if you are expecting a delivery from Mayday Rd.

Dec 2015 Teagardens 045F1 Fomapan100 Xtol(1.3)+paRodinal(1.160) 6 Mayday Rd

Along the waterfront, towards the Singing Bridge, craft that are used more frequently are tethered. In their midst is the old boat shed that now serves as a cafe. The years pass by, and life is measured as much by tides as by coffee spoons.

Dec 2015 Teagardens 045F1 Fomapan100 Xtol(1.3)+paRodinal(1.160) 9 Towards the Singing Bridge

Over  the last three years…

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Homage to J. Alfred Prufrock

52 rolls

“I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas” – TS Eliot

Walking the shoreline at low tide, crab claws abandoned near a child’s sandcastle remind me of J. Alfred Prufrock. It pains me to see broken claws discarded on a beach when these could be scuttling across the ocean floor.

Dec 2015 The Farm 045F1 Fomapan100 Xtol(1.3)+paRodinal(1.160) 2 (1) Homage to J. Alfred Prufrock

As I grow older, I identify more strongly with J. Alfred Prufock. These days I would rather stroll the beach with pants rolled, and know if mermaids or sirens call from across the waves it is not for me. I am no Odysseus tied to a masthead, or adventurer, but more often than not feel that human voices and illness drowned my dreams.

When I look back, there is the shyness of youth hidden limpet like behind a hard shell. Longing always to be hip, cool, and…

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Spring turns to summer

52 rolls

Indolence tracks its weary feet into long hot languid days to find its natural repose in the shade.

Flowers shrivel, and bush undergrowth starts to dry after a few scorching days. Moisture quickly disappears, and if the heat continues, soon the forest will look parched.

Summer means spring days spent looking for wildflowers have come to an end. Soon it will be hot almost every day, and the risk of fires, makes it too dangerous to stray far into the bush.

Nov 2015 Bugong 045F1 Shanghai100 Xtol(1.3)+paRodinal(1.160) 2 Spring turns to summer

As spring turns to summer, I visit a favourite tree on the Bugong plateau, which seems to stands at a portal not just to the wilderness, but other times and places.

I look forward to cooler months to spend a few moments here again under the arch looking yonder .

Nov 2015 Bugong 045F1 Shanghai100 Xtol(1.3)+paRodinal(1.160) 1 Arched

Photos taken with Chamonix 045F1 view camera, Skink 0.4mm f.214 pinhole in Copal #0…

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52 rolls

Queenslanders have always seemed a little different. There is Queensland, and then there is the rest of Australia.

I remember visiting in the early 1980’s and being in a bank. When the teller rang my branch in Victoria, and started by saying, “Good morning, this is Queensland calling!”

On the rugby field their state team still has only one battle cry and it is “Queenslander.”

Queensland has always been a land of milk and honey, a paradise of winter crops, sugar cane, rum and cattle. A place where women can be women, and men are men. Even their unique style of houses built on high stumps are called Queenslanders. Houses are mostly freshly painted, churches full on Sundays, governments conservative, and sin confined to the Gold Coast.

Of course I was completely suspect and tarred as a Mexican from south of the border. My car had Victorian number plates, it…

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