full and bright,
in my garden,
casts shadows among the trees –
I thought I saw
a woman of beauty,
a moon goddess.
landing on petals,
shining on my skin,
entering my being
enveloping my heart
making it race,
distracting my thoughts
so I think of nothing
dancing in my garden,
lighting my life.
I shall sit here –
awaiting her come near
that I might steal a kiss,
encircle her waist
drawing her to me,
to feel her warmth,
her goddess fullness –
a moment of passion…
to believe that
the dancing in the shadows
is not a dream,
a dream of beauty,
a dream of
my moon goddess –
casting her beams
throughout my garden,
My lips brush your tired forehead
as your eyelids droop
and breath evens.
Snuggling closer to my chest
I hold you gently,
my arms around you
keeping you safe and warm.
Watching you sleep,
wondering if I am in those dreams
that bring a small smile to your lips?
As I lay your head upon the pillow,
gently kiss that smile
and float away.
Was I there
or was it a dream?
One of the things I like to photograph is rust…..sometimes it can be the whole object or just a piece. If you look hard enough you can find rust everywhere….it’s just what you see really isn’t it?
This was on an old wooden rail bridge helping to hold the structure together.
A window guard on 18th Century house in Barcelona
Or, like this, the chain on my girls old swing.
The old truck has been part of my street since the first day I went exploring. It has been dragged from place to place and now resides at the front of an old area that used to be a tip. I don’t think the brake pedal works any more.
Some of the old works that goods and materials were used to load the ships earlier last century at Evans Head.
I liked the contrast of the rocks on the headland and the steel post that was part of the whaling station in South Australia.
Or it could be the subtle patina on a small statue that gives a bit more to an artwork.
Rusty corrugated iron is found all over the country so it would be remiss not to have a quaint old shed wouldn’t it?
I hoped the greenness of the mound would lead to there being water…..water that would sustain me for some time.
I am sure I again heard the sounds of water but not being visible on actually running over the rocks and stony ground must mean that it is somehow flowing underground. How can I get below this hard baked ground to get to the water that keeps this small patch green in a desert landscape alive.
Near the top of the ridge, which is only a few meters high, there is some larger rocks which I could use to dig…..scrambling over the rocks of the scree slope once again to the base of the ridge I found a good sized and appropriately shaped rock that I could use to get below the surface.
I wonder where I was when I heard that trickling sound…….down the slope slipping and sliding as the rocks gave no solid purchase…looking left….looking right….everything looked the same…….down on the edgewhere the tufted grasses came up to meet the bare rocky ground.
I stood….straining to listen to the slightest sound other than the occasional rocks tumble…..nothing….perhaps I should move down to where the grass evens out before abruptly ending to meet the desert once again.
Lifting my stone age implement, I struck the ground between the tufts sending smaller pebbles out of the way…..again…..again….again I hit the ground making a small divot.
Now I could scrape the hole into something bigger as I tired of hitting the hard stony surface…….sweat glistened on my now brown baked skin. I managed to struggle to a point where the small rocks and pebbles changed colour….a deeper colour…