the season of the bandaged moon



When I opened my front door this morning, a frail moon, bandaged in gauze, looked down at me from the cool dark sky. She had the sea like her shadow beneath her, full of secrets, bones. This is what I love about winter - the frailty and feralness. The being wild and slow, old and yet growing lovely buds of dreams. For me, it is a magic that must be written, not photographed, for words are my first love, my heart's native language, the ladder I wove for myself as a child so I could climb out of my private world of enchantment and engage with everyone else (and the way I can return to that world when everyone else exhausts or trammels me.) I'm sure I will return to the observational art of photography in spring, when the flowers open.


my heart is hooked by the sun and the stars



Our trees are full of stars. Someone has made nets of them, cast them over branches where they gleam like the winter ghosts of leaves, and I can only suppose that this someone is fishing for hearts.

I know about the trees because I go out in the dark - at night for medicine, hot chocolate, such things; in the morning to photograph the sun rising out of the ocean as if I might at last get evidence that it is a thing made of fish bones and pearls and the photophores of Stauroteuthis syrtensis, woven by the King of Love into a crown for the goddess. I suppose I want to capture the heart behind the mechanisms of the world.

Sometimes it's easier to believe in a wild god romancing the earth than it is to believe there are lovely people out there who think of stranding trees with stars. I know they exist, I see their light (literally), and I'd like to tell them how they give me hope in this world of tree-cutters and root-pullers, just as the rising sun does.

unusual adventures





And now for something completely different. I got this idea from Laura Grace Weldon.  

What's something you've done that you're reasonably confident you're the only person who reads here has done? 

I live a quiet existence, but here are a couple of things I've done that you may not have.

* rowed a leaky dinghy through a cyclone.
* lived alone on a mostly uninhabited island with no power, phone, or toilet.
* patted lion and tiger cubs as they rubbed against my legs.
* been dragged along the ground by a runaway horse
* explored abandoned shops alone after dark in central Sydney
* had ghosthunters investigate my house
* swung on a rope swing over a cliff
* flown in a glider plane
* accompanied police on a high speed chase
* thwarted armed robbers
* needed firemen to climb in my third story window to open my accidentally bolted door so I could get in to my apartment


That's all I can remember for now. Will you play along and share in the comments something you've done that you think may be an unusual experience?