uluru

‘the time has come to say fair’s fair
to pay the rent, to pay our share
the time has come, a fact’s a fact
it belongs to them, let’s give it back’

lyrics – midnight oil, beds are burning


As at 16:00 on Friday, 25 October 2019 the right of the public to clamber over this place came to an end in recognition of the reverence in which it is held by the indigenous people of Anangu.

Australia retains a firm hold on a part of me, her spirit locked down tight, forever, deep inside.

It is impossible to be indifferent concerning this continent of colour, contrast and contradiction. Much of this beautiful, desolate land remains unexplored by many who live there.

Perhaps one of the last places on earth that holds tight some of its oldest stories.

As a Deputy Secretary in the Australian Government, I was privileged to travel across this wide brown land, exploring places almost as far away from our urban environment as it is possible to be.

Maybe I will write more about that.

Uluru is not a rock.

It is an irrepressible force of nature.

A powerful psychic force that ensnares you from the moment you first see it whether from the air or up close and personal. There is a visceral thrumming in the air. A song from the past that captures your mind, your body, your soul.

Away from the inevitable tourist traps there is no sound. Only the whispers of the ancestors.

I am happy that this place has been given back to those whispering souls.

There are too few places left in the world that move us and re-connect us to our roots, to the essence of our humanity.

Imagine also, how much a boy from the Rossendale valley felt blessed when sharing a flight and snatched conversation with Peter Garret, lead singer with Midnight Oil, and then Minister for the Environment, Heritage and the Arts.

How do we sleep when our beds are burning?

It starts by smelling the smoke and doing something about it.

No?



Images made in November 2009 with Nikon D70 and Nikkor 18-70mm f/3.5-4.5 DX lens

coquilla

i’ll be there as soon as I can
but I’m busy mending broken
pieces of the life I had before

– unintended, muse

in a tight corner

do they toll for thee?

they also serve who only perch and wait

bound and confined

reach for the sky

will you still love me?

fleeting romance

stacked

haunted


*all images made with nikon d700 with nikkor 200-500mm f/5.6 and 50mm f/1.4 lenses, developed in lightroom cc*

(re)finding my mojo | monsagro

And now here is my secret, a very simple secret: It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye

― Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

Y ahora aquí está mi secreto, un secreto muy simple: solo con el corazón se puede ver correctamente; Lo que es esencial es invisible a los ojos

– Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, El Principito


So, do you think I saw with my heart?

Entonces, ¿crees que vi con mi corazón?



All photos made with Fujifilm X100F with fixed 23mm (35mmFX equivalent) lens

castronuño

Farewells can be shattering, but returns are surely worse
– Margaret Atwood, The Blind Assassin

It’s been a while since I posted here, more than four months to be (almost) precise.

A lot has happened in that time.

It’s time to return, to re-engage.

So, rather than write pages and pages explaining my absence, I thought I would share some photos from a walk by the river, yesterday, in Castronuño.

A few small slices of life, under the Spanish sun.

Presented, more or less in the order that they were shot.

Be seeing you.

As you sow, so shall you reap

Continue reading

waiting

Waiting for you to come along
Waiting for you to hear my song
Waiting for you to come along
Waiting for you to tell me what went wrong

Waiting For The Sun – The Doors

Lizard, waiting, in Akosombo, Ghana, for WP Weekly Photo Challenge – Waiting

I think it is a male West African Rainbow lizard (‘agama agama africana’). If you know more, please do say. 

*Shot with Fujufilm X100F and fixed 23mm (35mm full frame equivalent) lens at ISO 200, f/4 and 1/150s*

that quiet earth

…listened to the soft wind breathing through the grass, and wondered how any one could ever imagine unquiet slumbers for the sleepers in that quiet earth

Wuthering Heights, Emily Bronte

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Hidden away, yet not so very far away, from the asphalted path to (over)heated holiday hell waits a world of standing stone sentinels, chalked up symbolism, whispering reeds, serried rows of silent corn. No queues for petrol, diesel, burgers (nor crushing coronaries). No three-laned black topped road to nowhere (and back again).

No sound, except the wind, and the well of words within.

Shot with Nikon D700 in manual mode and ISO200 with AF Nikkor 80-200mm f/2.8D lens.

poetry | 101 | rehab | whisper

There’s no need to raise your voice here. You don’t have to convince anybody of anything, and you don’t have to attract anyone’s attention
― Haruki Murakami, Norwegian Wood

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I hear you,

whisper

in the long grass

and in, the reeds

along, the banks.

I hear you,

whisper

in the leaves, of the

trees

and (in) the beards of those

who ride long,

and hard.

I hear you,

whisper

in the (endless) night,

when the stars,

fall,

and (yes)

I hear you, whisper

when you, are

gone.


whisper

This week, my poetry prompt is only a whisper