Clouds

A few days ago Cyclone Heidi hit the Pilbara, which is north from here.  India v Australia 3rd test in cricket is being played in Perth and yesterday I heard one of the commentators commenting that the high cloud would have emanated from this tropical cyclone.  Wrong!  The weather from that system is still to the north east of us and will not make its presence felt in Perth at all.

If one was of a fanciful nature the fluffy clouds on the horizon at sunset might be construed as part of the now tropical depression.  We watched as clouds drift inland building up with a promise of rain ... to no avail.  The go inland leaving us with hot temperatures in the high 30's without the respite of a shower of rain.

This evening, when the air was slightly cooler and when it is rather pleasant to be outdoors [apart from mosquitoes!] my attention was drawn to those fluffy clouds; at times a delicate shade of pink reflected from the setting sun.  It was easy to imagine them as balls of fluffy cottonwool resting in the sky to provide a delightful photo opportunity for a few moments.

Reconstructed?

The Curate's Wife blogged about photos and photography bringing back memories of times past when I spent hours 'digitally enhancing' photos.  In a way this is a type of art form [she says trying to impress], and immense fun.

There are several excellent computer programmes available that allow us to cut photos into important little bits, add other important little bits from another photo, and before you know it a new compilation is formed.

One year a little green 'dragon' with a banana yellow belly came into my possession.  It was in all probability cheap; it was colourful, and sat perched on the shelf of a small bookcase surveying the small world of the room that made up its universe.  My first digital camera, a gift when digi cameras were just coming into their own, held only 16 photos.  The store selling them [in a distant city] assured my son larger memories were easily procurable.  Fibs!  As with many modern electronic toys they are out of date before hitting the shop shelves. 

One day the lonely little green dragon beckoned me.  "Take my photo", it implored.  I obliged.  But what to do with the photo?  Days later inspiration struck [as it tends to]. 

Earlier that year I had visited Moeraki Boulders near my favourite New Zealand holiday destination of Hampden.  A photo from that time projected in my imagination.  A picture hatched.

Incidently I called that little dragon Doni ... not a dino the dinosaur, but almost.  

This small story evolved later:-

The Egg

Beyond the water eroded exterior lay another land, another world; a new beginning.  As the yellow centre of the universe diminished the translucent white of the albumen disappeared.

For Doni time was running out.  As rapid growth cramped his space, his source of nourishment became more precarious by the hour.  Doni wondered if he should give serious consideration to moving his head quarters somewhere more spacious.

From the edge of his nose a spur was growing.  Imaging a crowbar in every shape and form, Doni knew instinctively this new development symbolished his future.  No one had informed him the correct usage of the ugly protrusion that appeared overnight.  Living a short life in a tiny universe, which was the only home he knew, had been a period of dramatic development.  A humble black dot that was his beginning changed hourly, daily, until he was barely recognisable from that simple single cell.

Frustration teemed with an acute feeling of claustrophobia filled Doni's mind and body.  He was trapped.  He had to escape before this universe crushed him into oblivion.  Banging on the walls achieved exactly nothing.  Crying was not in his repertoire.  Hunger drove him on, as an overwhelming urge to leave this place pounded in his mind.

Lying on his back Doni lurched his head upwards ... outwards.  The rocky exterior, worn smooth by aeons of ocean flow of the ebbing and surging tide, started to crack.  With energy hitherto unknown Doni directed a massive onslaught at the wall.  He pulled the spur back.  He lunged it outward.  Over and over the dance was repeated.

Music reverberated through his head.  One, two, three, lunge; one, two, three, strike; one, two three, rest; one, two three, lunge ...  A jagged crack opened up.  Doni, his strength charged with ambition, powered all his effort into this, the Escape for Life.  Lunge, strike, rest.  Lunge, strike, rest.

A trickle of salt water dribbed into the universe that had been Doni's home for a lifetime.  White foam curled around his feet.  Doni stretched out ... his legs broke free ... the case split open leaving him exposed to another world.

Beyond lay the pounding surf.  All around the warmth of the golden sand drifted its welcome; crabs and sand hoppers hurried to investiage.  Doni had arrived in another world.  There was no hard shell to protect him, no yellow inner glow to nourish him; instead he had Freedom.

Photos

I read that Kodak is preparing to file for bankruptcy!!  The digital age has pushed 'old fashioned' cameras to the tail end of the market.

What a shame!  How many of us have boxes or tins [the ones with pictures on the top and came filled with biscuits at Christmas] full of photos?  Oh, I do know some who actually have them in albums, all carefully titled.  One day I will find time to do this important task as how many of my children know who those old folks are? 

Photos from the past show a page in history; clothes from another century, hair styles, shoes, even the number of children in a family; all these little facts are recorded for posterity; a snapshot of how the ancestors lived.

How many of these family treasures were shot with a Brownie Box? 

Today most of us own a digital camera.  These are a wonderful invention.  No needing to take a roll of film into the chemist who sent them away to be developed.  At the designated time we returned to pick up our 'snaps' only to find several were blurry, others were blank, and out of the lot we might have three or four worth keeping.  [OK, perhaps my photography prowess was not particularly well honed; maybe the price of film and developing had something to do with it?] 

With the digital camera we can 'shoot' to our heart's content and delete those not up to scratch.  I have become slack in printing out the ones worth keeping.  That comes into the same category as failing to name photos!  Laziness?!

But the fact that the world wide known company, Kodak, is facing difficult times falls into the same category as when the draught-horse became redundant to the new-fangled tractor. 

Times, they are a changing ... sadly.

Happy New Year

Ring out the old, ring in the new,
Ring, happy bells, across the snow:
The year is going, let him go;
Ring out the false, ring in the true.~Alfred, Lord Tennyson, 1850

2011 has only hours to give us.  As I mature [age is such a depressing work] the days, weeks and months race by.  No longer do the long days of summer holidays last forever as in my childhood when hours and days were easily spent lying on an old mattress under the laden cherry plum tree; just a short reach to those luscious [non fattening] fruit.  The mattress was an essential ... over ripened plums tended to fall from the heavily burdened branches, not a nice feel!

The mattress under the shade of the plum tree helped convey me to other worlds, the world of the written word.  I recall struggling with the verbosity of Dickens, and within a short time devouring his descriptions of life in another land in another time.  

Summer went on forever!

Winter sometimes brought snow, always froze our fingers and toes with icicles that crackled and broke under the weight of children skating along the gutters.

Spring ... daffodils, the japonica hedge a vision of pink and glossy green leaves, violets pushing up their unforgettable scent wafting around the garden; pet lambs to be bottle fed ... spring with all its promises.

Autumn with the carpet of poplar leaves on our long driveway; the wind tossing leaves to the four corners of our little farm.

Each year brings new memories, begins with new dreams.  The passing of the old year gives us a few hours to reminisce over the good and the not-so-good, hopefully a little light-bulb moment will flicker in our mind as we suddenly wonder about a solution to a small problem; and the beginning of another year sends our thoughts to yet to be known delights. 

May 2012 bring good health and happiness to All.

Cash/Vouchers or Gifts?

We have just returned from a quick trip into town ... mail and milk mainly.  Enroute a storm that blew up from nowhere threatened, but by passed us.  Forks of lightning struck earthwards with loud thunderclaps almost deafening the eardrums.  By the look of it, most was out at sea, though the streets in town were running water ... a welcome coolness to an otherwise hot day.

The small supermarket was busy, queues formed at four checkouts.  As is often the case in a small town, queues give reason for a chat and a laugh.  The Post Office can be the source of  'the laugh of the day'!

The lass serving me appeared less animated than usual; normally she is bright and cheery.  An observant customer enquired as to how she enjoyed Christmas.  The reply was half-hearted, which aroused the attention of the rest of the queue.

Being naturally curious I made a comment to bring forth more information.  She took the hint; her reply was illuminating.

She received lots of money and vouchers, but she loves to open a parcel. 

This comment gave me reason to ponder on the journey home.  I had sent vouchers [to those who in the past were unimpressed with my chosen gift ... teenagers!], and in the process saved considerably on postage.  I much prefer to spend on the person than the Post Office, in spite of the fact it can be a source of considerable amusement.

We received vouchers ... overall for a considerable sum.  At the moment I have no brilliant ideas as to what these vouchers can be exchanged for!

I have frequently heard parents of children, some as young as five or six, who gave the children a voucher to spend on the Boxing Day sales; sales I avoid!  We hear that the spirit of Christmas is money oriented; the true reason for the season lost in the whirring of check-out tills.  That a young woman, not long turned 21, prefers a parcel to open than money or vouchers sounded a timely warning to my 'gift giving' next year.

Christmas Blessings

May this Christmas season bring you blessings, love and laughter, and good health and happiness for the coming year.

Red Sky at Night

Red sky at night, shepherds delight; red sky in morning, shepherds warning.

The above little verse was oft heard in my childhood home; my Dad was a weather watcher and endeavoured to instill a little ancient wisdom into the minds of his children.  It worked.  Or the red sky in morning verse stayed in my mind, and as weather is changeable there have been many opportunities to recite these wonderful words of knowledge.

Earlier this week a man of words professed that the above verse has as much relevance today as in earlier times, with the rider that a guess at tomorrow's weather is as accurately forecast by the colour of the sky as the long-winded technical forecasts broadcast daily in the media.

While a vast area of the south/west of Western Australia burned with devastating bush fires a week ago, and while at the moment thousands of acres of station country in the northern mid-west of Western Australia is being destroyed by fires started from lightning strikes, the opportunities for startling skies is ripe, dust and smoke from fires adding to the garish colours of the setting sun.

Tonight a bright pink colour captured my attention.  Parts of the house shone in this glow.  The sky was orange.  A camera opportunity!  The clouds swirled in the atmosphere rippling like the incoming tide on a sunny afternoon. 

 Tomorrow should be a fine day!