After yesterday, today it is back to the sketchbook and not doing a lot.
we did walk this morning, along the cliffs from Petrels Cove and nearly got blown away with the wind and the rain. It was a lovely walk but I was glad to get back in to the ute and get warm.
I have been playing in sketchbooks but not actually sketching, having a play with paint and stencils and other bits and bobs.
Here is another short poem from Australian Voices. It is by Michael Dransfield dont ask me what it means but its called,
Mouse Poem 1
small animals are born invisible,
only hawks can see them, and
each other.
They live the colour of their
landscape, even in death/ashgrey, or
in a fire, small crimson,
crying windmills.
2 comments:
That poem is so sad...it makes me think that we, as humans live our lives in the same fashion, really...visable only to any larger beings that may be watching us (ie:God, or other larger terrestrial life, who can see us, but whom we can't see. If you look at life from how we experience it, then maybe the small animals life isn't all bad. It only seems that way to someone watching from above.
When did I get so deep??? Ha ha ha!!! :)
Not sure what the windmill reference is Penny but it's a nice poem. Certainly many people are invisible and we neglect to engage in conversation with some shy people who just blend into a landscape.
Thanks for sharing it.
Wendy
And the leaves too of course! Peceli is home now and resting and waiting for a date for surgery. Oh, this is a new experience for us.
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