What’s happening in our neck of the woods and in other necks not so woody
A Song Thrush introduces the entrance . . .
Finding an elephant in Hungry Head
An engineered containment cell . . .
I recall going to the information desk at the Louvre and asking where their mosaics were and the attendant said no one had ever asked her that before.
You are being moved to a hospice, yet two weeks ago
walked ‘John’s walk’ as you call it, past the Domesday forest . . .
‘I hear my poetry as a sort of music, though I don’t think of it as music. I think of it as language.’ Raworth
The juvenile Sea Eagle, Black Cockies, Logrunners, Noisy Pittas, Scarlet Honeyeaters, Black-fronted Dotterela, Brolgas etc. etc. were too fast or too distant for my camera . . .
‘Light is a powerful substance. We have a primal connection to it.’ James Turrell
I read his poetry and that of Andrei Voznesensky . . .
Eos and a ‘wet moon’ . . .