shapeofthings: (Wedding)
Right, if I don't write this now, it's not going to happen.


A reminder of civilisation. I used to be afraid of these when I was little. I thought that at night they came alive and went stomping over the hills.


It's 7pm Sunday night and I'm pretty much ready to fall asleep. Alex has just made me tea though, so I should be able to stay awake long enough to sample the delishous-smelling dinner he's cooking. I've worn my self out by being far too active for a weekend, despite being tucked into bed on the safe side of midnight both Friday and Saturday. The explanation for being this stuffed starts back on Friday morning, when I hopped on my bike to go to work, but instead of making the 10 minute trip to the train station, I thought I'd try the 20 minute trip to a station further on. But once I'd got to that station, I couldn't get across the road for the traffic, and it really wasn't far to the next one, then by the turn-off for the next one I was almost at the city anywya, so it wouldn't hurt to just take the train from central and head in to work then. But the traffic was worrisome so I ended up going around the edge of the city, and then I was at the Gardens and there's a lovely bikeway all the way from there until Toowong, and it'd be as fast as the train, and by the time I got to Toowong I was only a hard 10 minutes from work with one big hill, so what the hell, right? I had to walk up the BFO hill, but other than that I made it all the way in about as much time as it would have taken me to take the train from home and walk the rest of the way from Indooroopilly station. 19 kilometres, 1 hour, 16 minutes and 16 seconds. I know this because Alex bought me a trip computer recently and it's inpiring more cycling.


Lots of people and animals out on the beach, including a horse (if you look hard enough).


Anyway, I decided that after riding all that way that I'd ask Alex to collect the bike and I after work because I'd likely have trouble getting home under my own steam. By home time I was feeling up to it, but I got a lift anyway, and we treated ourselves to dinner at Laksa Hut in Toowong on the way home. Mmm, chicken & mushroom hot pot and salt & pepper tofu! We were home by 8 but spent the next few hours treating each other to massages, relieving my tired limbs.


The sky was high and blue-blue-blue (and I hearts me my polarising filter).


But what on earth happens next? )
shapeofthings: (toe sock)

Mount Warning from the Pinnacle look-out (Wollumbin, the cloud-catcher)


The mountains are my heart country. Although I miss the ocean I can never leave my silent green gods. Over the Christmas break we went up into the cool green for a day of re-charging. A cool shower for my soul, I love these places.


The scenic rim - looking sourth from the Pinnacle


This is the Border Ranges National Park, headwaters of the river I grew up on, the Tweed. Dad used to take us out here on day trips years ago, and Mum would pack a picnic to enjoy, settled next to the creek. It had been far too long since I'd been back, so when I heard moondildoAdrian and Mari were up for a day-trip while here on holidays I suggested we go.


The scenic rim - looking north from the Pinnacle


Dad lent us the 4-wheel drive and I made us a picnic of left-over Christmas turkey sandwiches, coffee and biscuits and off we went. West from the coast, following the river to Murwillumbah, then out past Mount Warning (Wollumbin) and follow the signs to Kyogle, then turn left at the top of the ridge. It feels like coming home, pushing deeper into the rainforest as the bellbird calls fade into silence.


A native member of the ginger famile


We spent several hours exploring the details and grandeur of forest and lookout and creek. We saw a crayfish foraging along the creek bed, oblivious to our watchful eyes above. The lace-work trunks of Arctic Beech hung with long strands of dripping moss. We breathed the clean, damp air and lamented that we were not alone: the peril of national parks in the holidays.


Brindle Creek bush walk this way!


The day quickly became late, and having run out of coffee before lunch we departed, heading for home past a pair of pretty-face wallabies grazing on the verge. We stopped in http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nimbin to give Mari a cultural experience and were pleased to see the place and people looking better than they had in years. After a coffee and a wander it truly was time to drive back to the coast for a warm shower and sleep at the in-laws house.


Brindle Creek


Stay tuned for the upcomming missive: close encounters of the Border Ranges kind!
shapeofthings: (Daisy)


The first of the summer storms rolled over the mountian yesterday, two months ahead of schedule. The first summer storm shook the jacarandas, braches heavy with buds, and the silky oaks, blazing yellow in the afternoon light. The crows bowed their heads for mercy: too early. We watched the clouds in earnest, willing for long, heavy rain but not the hail promised in her greeneyed hue.



She rolled in from the west, full of promise and lay close to the ground. She came in fast, with the wind before her and a strange striped front, as she crossed the mountain. The first summer storm looked like a doozy and carried a warning in her path. Silence struck before the winds swept in and the last lorikeets raced for shelter.



The first storm of the summer fizzled right before she hit; the city's heat stealing her thunder and turning her 'round to the north, leaving only desperate rain that the ground drank up and cool, blue skies that gently drifted into night.

shapeofthings: (Daisy)
One day, the week before last, smoke suddenly filled the air and I rushed upstairs to check it wasn't mine. It wasn't, just blowing in from the west, sudden and feirce. It was the Tennis Centre, or what's left. The long, bending grass was ablaze, perhaps deliberately, or perhaps a peice of broken bottle caught the sun on just the right angle. I don't know. What I did know was that I wanted to go back there and see what remained, so yesterday I did.



The place seemed naked without the tall grass and thick vines burying the debris, but very much alive. Swallows swooped and dove over the blackened ground, chasing inects beyond my site and ibis picked over the ground. Amonght the blackened stubs of vegetation, vibrant green shoots were pushing there way out. Not all life was flourishing, though: I found a burnt and blackened rat, too slow. An abandoned sneaker lay disintegrating into the ash, long forgotten.



The perished vines revealed the ground pocked with holes and loose piles of rubble. Hardly an enticing play-ground, though someone had been there, organising the broken glass into ecclectic groups. Or perhaps they were there before the fire started. Now they sit as if to gossip over the forlorn sight before them, and complain about my footsteps in the dust.

shapeofthings: (Default)


I'm not over the sunsets here yet. Evidently. We're getting into autumn now, which means cleaner skies with high cloud, and the sun sets behind the mountain more slowly. More sunsets!

Today was a very lazy day. I caught up on much-need sleepand spent far too much time on the internet. I got a haircut. I think being mugged would have been slightly sheaper! Damn my wonderful hairdresser for buggering off! Still, it's cut now, so I've got another 6 moths to find someone new. =o)

I have to go bake a couple of cakes now, as I've promised to put on a morning tea at work tomorrow to raise money for Cyclone Larry rebuilding efforts. One day I'll learn to think things through before I raise me hand. So I'd best get out of here. Click for a little more sunset prettyness! Read more... )
shapeofthings: (Default)


I no longer work on Thursdays, as of today. Now they are my day.

words & pictures )
shapeofthings: (Default)


This is my neighbour's pecan tree. Every winter it's leaves turn, and gradually layer the grass with yellow and brown textures. In the late sping the cockatoos come after the exotic treats it bears. An old branch suspends a swing with fond memories of childhood for three girls too old for swinging, their hair glinting in the sunlight the same colour as the pecan's falling foliage.

January 2017

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