Me, the moon and B...

 B looks up at the moon
I look down at B.
Where are we going?
What do we see?
As the moon looks down on us both.

17.8.12

In our garden 23.2.13

Midnight the black cat

 

I was taken in by my adopted family when they finally noticed me lurking in their front yard. After no one claimed me I was named Midnight by the youngest child.

Life in my seaside home was exciting: not many other cats, no pesky dogs to harrass me and the kind mother always left the bedroom window ajar so I could come and go at night. Gradually the children warmed to me and even the father was heard to remark on my superior mouse catching skills.

The noisy 2 legged bird-like creatures which lived in a large cage at night fascinated me. During the day I would idly watch them from my spot in the overgrown garden and over the weeks I concentrated on becoming a part of their landscape. Then I would casually saunter past them as they clucked busily in the undergrowth. As the days lengthened I would spend more time outside and even got to the point of walking along the netting roof of the chook yard, without them taking any notice of me.

Red Roses February 2013

Photo of Uluru (Ayers Rock)

We travelled around Australia for 3 weeks in August 1967 on a school bus trip. Many hours of travelling over rough dirt roads and many nights of camping in our little two man tents are my main memories of that time.
 

This trip was a real eye-opener for our small group of 16 year old girls as we drove through outback NSW and Queensland and then on up to Darwin. Next stop was Alice Springs for two days and then we ventured out to Ayers Rock as it was then known. We camped in a camping area at the base of the Rock (such a luxury to have running water and hot showers!) and the next day we set out to climb Ayers Rock. 

Goulburn sculptures

Desmeralda as a child

Desmeralda was my best friend from the day we met in kindergarten until my family moved away 5 years later. She was the one I was sat with on our first day of school and we became firm friends gradually.

People marvelled at our differences, she with her straight brown hair in plaits and I with my curly auburn hair; she the tallest in our class with her slim build and I one of the shortest; Desmeralda loved to play sports and was always first in the athletic finals while I struggled to even get placed in a heat.

In spite of this, or perhaps because, of our differences we remained best friends and enjoyed each other’s company.

Weekends were often spent at my house where Desmeralda loved to join in the rough and tumble of my large, boisterous family. At the time she was the only child at home as her brother John was 10 years older and away at boarding school and her sister Carol had not yet come along. My twin brothers Will and Andy were only 2 years older than us and nearly always included us in their games; we especially enjoyed Cowboys and Indians even though we usually had to be the ones who were shot first.

1.6.12

Slow progress

Murder averted

A carpet of feathers
grey and white,
some long, some short
reveals the scene of the battle.

Fortuitous intervention 
means 
the small pigeon 
is spared.

Warrior cat 
rages and sulks 
in frustration 
as he is contained in the house.

26.1.13

Snow 12 October 2012

Haiku

Earth clothed by Sturt Peas

Scarlet burst through green acacias

With golden flowers.

White paint peeling above

Cracked plaster on pink wall

Cobweb completes the image.

White flowered curtains

Blended with blue wallpaper

Create floral theme.

Town clock chimes eleven

Chatter from next door but here

Intense haiku thoughts.

Four candy striped hoops

Hanging from wooden coat hooks

Promise outdoor fun.

19.10.12

Kiama June 2012

Inside a cupboard

The light seeps under the door and if I concentrate very hard I can just make out the outline of some of the cleaning utensils stored here under the stairs. 

My heart beats faster and faster as I imagine the intruder going stealthily from room to room, ransacking drawers in his search for God knows what. 

The footsteps come closer and I cower in the corner with my eyes firmly shut, hoping and praying that he will not try this cupboard door yet.  

The sound of the footsteps recedes as he moves up the wooden staircase, two steps at a time, and then I hear muffled curses coming from the second bedroom; thank goodness for the new born puppies who have taken over that room and are now running riot through the upper level of the house. 

I need a distraction to buy me some time. 

Then I hear the sound of running puppy feet and pray that the stair gate is still closed.

While these thoughts go through my head I also think about the baby sleeping on the porch in his pram. 

How long will he stay asleep? Has the sun moved him into shadow? Will he wake if he hears the puppies running across the bare floorboards upstairs?

The bedroom doors slam as the intruder goes from room to room, swearing as a puppy, or maybe two, gets under his feet.

My cupboard hideaway begins to feel more claustrophobic as the minutes tick by and the footsteps echo down the staircase.

I finally feel brave enough to carefully find the small light bulb and unscrew it from its fitting, hoping all the while that my intruder will not investigate if the light does not go on.

Then I hear the scratching on the outside of the small oak cupboard door. 

The puppies have found me! 

But where is the intruder?

I hold my breath and again cower into the darkest corner of the cupboard, all the while listening for footsteps on the stairs.

31.8.12 exercise 4

Roses

Wooden box of treasures

The black button sparkles with the light and as I handle it I can see again the front of my Dad’s coat with its many black buttons. He always wore that coat on Christmas Eve when we went out in the late evening snow to midnight Mass. Snuggled in his arms I always felt secure and loved and it was hard to suppress the Christmas excitement as we trudged along the village path to the little candle lit church. I wonder to myself, how many years since he wore that coat? How did I end up with just one button? What happened to the coat?

Next I choose the multi coloured bell. It could be from a Christmas decoration, but I know with certainty that it came from my dear cat Mushka’s collar. He was a fine specimen of a Siamese, a chocolate seal point of the older type who was facing euthanasia; because of his fuller face and larger ears he was not considered true to breed. We rescued him from those heartless breeders and he repaid the reprieve with his everlasting love and devotion. When we finally had to have him put down at the age of 18 I kept his collar and put the bell in my little carved wooden box of treasures.

A square orange wooden bead which could have come from a bracelet or a necklace. Why did I keep this? And then I remember – my best friend Jenny made me a Buddhist mala for my 50^th birthday. I treasured that handmade mala of misshapen beads as it was the last thing I received from Judy. Shortly after my birthday she died tragically in a freak accident while bushwalking in the Blue Mountains; the path she was following collapsed as she rounded a bend and she was thrown to the bottom of the gorge. I kept that mala around my wrist for many years until finally one day the string broke as I was crossing a busy road in Sydney. Beads scattered everywhere on the street and I was only able to save one bead before the traffic lights changed. From then on this bead stayed in my wooden treasure box.

14.12.12