‘The Bend In The Water’
Time and tide move slowly at the mangrove-lined creek; there is an almost imperceptible sense of being connected to the motion of all things, as I stand at the water’s edge and when my mind is as still as my surrounds. Listen, watch, for it is there….
‘Sandstone And Sea’
…the view over a nearby cliff on one of many, many pandemic inspired (forced?) recent strolls in my locale. I am grateful, as always, for beauty in the mundane…
Shaggy dog story (definition, Wikipedia): ‘An extremely long winded anecdote characterised by extensive narration of typically irrelevant events and terminated by an anticlimax’
The border collie’s story:
“I love waves. It is my life’s ambition to catch one. If I did, perhaps I would take one home and perhaps proudly display it next to my food bowl. I found a new beach that seemed a likely spot to catch a wave. There were plenty of them to be found there. In fact, there was a succession of waves. Wave after wave, rolling on to the sand. Some were small. Others were larger, especially those created by the wakes of ferries sailing by on the way to the islands in the gulf . There were white ferries; red ones too. I didn’t get to catch a wave the first day; nor the next day; or the day after that. My owner didn’t seem to mind. She is incredibly patient like that; sometimes I wish she would actually show some disappointment and lose her rag. She doesn’t even get angry with my male master. Never. Don’t you think that’s weird? Maybe if she got angry or disappointed, perhaps she wouldn’t bother take me to the shore to catch a wave. The day this picture was taken I had high anticipation of chasing waves and actually securing one. You can see it in my eyes if you look closely. I didn’t catch one.”
‘Korari In Silhouette’
‘Steps Down To The Sea’
steps down to the sea
rusted out old bastards
purpose all served
tread then with care
descend, descend
alight the last
and carelessly
walk on water
without weight
or thought for depths
cross ocean’s sheen
and twisting tides
transfigured
‘View Over The Old Town’ Edinburgh, October 2019
Oysters on rocks, Karaka Bay, NZ
Pacific oysters, both whole and broken, pale and with jagged edges, cling to tidal rocks.
Like barnacles and limpets, oysters signify tenacity to me; holding firm against the elements, whether submerged or exposed to the sun.
The reward of eating the delicious molluscs comes with hard work in opening them, and risk of being cut in the process.
I have a love/hate relationship with the creatures – I love the taste and will eat them every which way, but have had my feet painfully slashed by their shells on a number of occasions whilst swimming at my favourite local spots.
They are just difficult, I suppose, as their own survival and life is difficult.
Hmm, I can think of some people I know like that….
So, in coronavirus lockdown, we had to drop off some essential groceries to my octogenarian aunt, who lives alone and is not supposed to leave her house.
Happily, it was a gorgeous afternoon, so the delivery took place in her rather marvelous garden.
In the sunshine, pleasantries were exchanged; social distancing was applied.
These flowers caught my eye as we chatted.
Two pretty flowers, and a snake-like Australian orchid of some type getting between them, recreate a very old biblical story where good things go badly wrong …
……………………………………………………………
P.S: To any Australian readers, I am not insinuating anything!
P.P.S: I’m so glad we don’t have any real snakes in New Zealand! They creep me out…
‘Parklife’
‘The Magpie’
“…and Quardle oodle ardle wardle doodle
The magpies say.”
– New Zealand poet Denis Glover, ‘The Magpies’ (1964)
‘Breathe II’
Another take on the aerial roots of mangroves featured in the previous post Breathe.
A mass grouping.
Repetition.
(the blogs and images are beginning to repeat, I know, like the seemingly endless days in lockdown…I feel as stuck as a mangrove in mud…)
‘Breathe’
Mangrove aerial roots (pneumatophores) protrude from the mud and tidal shallows of the Tamaki.
That’s how you breathe when you live in anaerobic sludge and partly submerged in salty water.
At any rate, the massed roots make for an impressive, if slightly surreal, display.
All together – breathe!
‘The Water Tower Above Glover Park’
Glover Park, in Auckland’s eastern suburbs, was an idyllic scene a couple of days ago in the warm autumn sunshine.
People, dogs, prams, sports balls everywhere, in a natural grassy bowl surrounded by leafy arboreal splendour. Everyone practicing social distancing while trying to be and look friendly. Bliss!
Then there’s this brutalist concrete exemplar on a ridge, watching silently over it all.
I remember it from when I was the same age as the children running around in the park.
Ugly, grimy and slightly sinister in appearance, even bathed in sun.
I, for one, need the foreboding form to complete the scene – you can’t have all that light without a little darkness…
‘Pukeko’
A pukeko (native to New Zealand) forages in a wetland.
The long legs blend into the grass stalks but the blue and black plumage is a dead giveaway…
This is the latest iteration in an ongoing (and originally unintended) series .
It’s a recurring image that appears to me, like a dream, and then demands another projection on this blog’s screen.
I see it when I am feeling out of sorts with life.
That “in between” place; neither/nor; the netherworld.
This time around it feels like the whole coronavirus – worried world is of an uncertain mind.
We are mostly, then, somewhere under the wharf and above the waves…for now.
Stay safe people,hang on to the pilings!
‘Four Handprints In Blue’
‘Fluff, Cut Is Coming’
…you know, I really hate to be the bearer of bad news…
‘Private’
A wrought iron gate cordons off a small and somewhat mysterious flight of stone stairs in the Tower of London.
The sign spells out the obvious.
It’s a classier warning sign than the one I featured in the recent post No Admittance, but amounts to the same thing really.
The bars pictured here are signifiers of more than privacy – they emphatically spell isolation.
The Tower, in bygone times, was home to many prisoners, who I suspect had way more privacy than they would have liked…
‘Striped Shore’
ebb then flood 