Unknown Gossamer

The rains brought a few days coolness to our region, allowing walks during the daylight hours. Plants bristled with joy with the rain. I took the opportunity to play with my mum's camera with it's macro-lens. 

This plant - which grows in abundance along the road near us - was a delight to photograph. The soft gossamer seeds, the spiky case, the way the wind pulls at the light seeds. I've taken photos of the plant before, but have been unable to get the sharp definition of the seeds. 

There is a strong satisfaction in finally capturing what the eye sees - and then some. I've found that as I upload the photos to my computer details turn up that I never noticed at the time. Sometimes it will be a trailing spider web - sometimes a lady bug or other small beastsie.

I don't know what this plant is - whether it's introduced or indigenous (I need to do an extensive google - my ignorance is preying on me). I know that it is found in abundance along the roadside near us - particularly along the part where there is a low-lying area that turns to a swamp and marsh with the infrequent rain. 

I love the story seen in one image. Softness, lightness, the promise of new beginnings, all protected in the spiky case, before the wind blows the seeds away, to find a place to come to ground, settle roots, sprout, and burgeon into new life. 

Trees, tenderness and wonder

On our walk through the forest we come across a paperbark tree beside the meandering river, and my youngest daughter stops to study it. She is curious about the feel and look of the bark and explores it tenderly. I take photos in the shadowy light - sometimes the tree in focus, sometimes my daughter.

My daughter explores the properties of the tree's bark, peeling some off and seeing if it floats in the river.  She wraps her arms around the trunk, seeing how wide the tree is. 

And I cannot help but think how much better the world would be if everyone could meet some trees, and explore them with tenderness and wonder. 

Into the forest

We have been hibernating for most of the year, staying inside as first one cough and then isolation, and then a series of other coughs have kept us housebound. The small moments of sunrise, sunset, and the amazing stars in our remote town have been short moments amidst long stretches on the Inside.
We are starting to venture Outside. And recently the younger girls and I got to wander through temperate forest, the girls running, climbing, exploring, while I followed more slowly, savouring and capturing.
The light is soft, dappled, water-logged. My slightly out-of-focus photos as I adjust to the shifting light look like water colours.
And I am reminded again, that this is where my children belong, Outside, in the wild.
Another cold has caught us up, or the re-emergence of a previous one (my beloved has now been tested twice for Cov-id - both negative, but these colds are persistent) so we've had some more days inside while we've rested and tried to shake it. I've looked over the photos and sighed at the gently dappled green, the slants of gold, and how my girls look as if they run through a fairytale.

Inland

So. We've moved to the bush. We're now two and a half hours from the sea and three and a half hours from Brisbane. We're finally (almost) stopping to catch our breath after all the packing, moving, travel and unpacking.
The days are hot and the land is dry. The colours are faded golds and browns and muted greens. The sky is high and generally cloudless.
I have found if I don't get my washing on the line by 7am I need to put on a sunhat, sunscreen and sunglasses to get it out. This is not an exaggeration. I tend to wait till evening and leave it out over night. It's a great time to admire the amazing stars and the cool night breezes.
Kangaroos bound by our back fence every day and cows stop to visit. Our first days were enlivened by a nest of tree snake babies appearing in the laundry, garage, over the screen of the front door and in the palm at the front of the house. Our clever cats alerted us nearly every time but until I had a proper ID on the type of snake, getting them out of the house and into nearby bush was a nerve wracking procedure. My Beloved - who arrived a week after the kids and I - had all sorts of helpful phone advice. "Could be an inland taipan, maybe death adder." So reassuring.
We are starting to explore - loading the kids in the car I picked up My Beloved from work one night and we headed out to the local dam for some fishing.
I am the queen of kangaroos and spot five on the way. The kids are already over them.
We arrive just as the sun sets - the light still warm and golden, the breeze delightful. The dam is very empty. It's skirted by a big swathe of pitted dirt where the water used to reach.
The kids don't notice and run and play and throw stones into the shallows.
We don't catch any fish - but have plans to return with live bait and different yada-yada fishings stuffs.
More importantly dozens of curious turtles come to observe us - poking their little heads above the water to inspect if we are food/bring food, watching for a moment and then submersing again.
We're thinking of heading home when the moon rises over the far side of the bank, slowly appearing behind the dark silhouettes of the gums. At first I thought it was some ultra bright headlights or something from a dance party. But no - a large and brilliant full moon. Appearing larger than it will all year. I take dozens of photos but none capture it's size, clarity, colour, brilliance. (I make notes to myself about tripods, lenses - the stars and moon out here deserve them. Because they're worth it.)
We're slowly settling in - to the sense of space, to the differences. I am hanging out for my first bill to arrive so I can get a library card. But everything is billed online now. (Luckily, I still have a card with my last library system. Ebooks are amazing. But I still want a local card.)

 My sweet savage, telling me she needs to be carried to the others because - prickles. 

 A rare photo of the four together. 

 Where the water used to be. 

 Running over where-the-water-used-to-be.

 And again - why walk when you can run? 

 Catch of the day. 

Moonrise

Dolphin-Days

Fishing at the river-mouth, on a lazy wintry (huh! this is Queensland) afternoon. Despite the foreshore being on-lead-only, we brought our noble hound. I might be able to re-attach my arm sometime soon as there were soooo many things he needed to check out - pronto!

However, it was all worth it, as I'm convinced it was his presence that lured the dolphin (and, I believe, dolphin pup) into swimming close to check us out.

Obviously, we caught nothing, except photos, but I do like seeing the cast net being thrown and the Glasshouse Mountains looked stunning.

The Land-Dolphin.

Don't fall in little one! She skitters around at a run like a crazy drunk (buzz not jumping in after her, there's serious amounts of slime in there) but so far hasn't fallen in.

That triangle is one of the dolphins! - looking out to the opening to Pumicestone Passage and beyond to Bribe Island.

Self-Portrait. Enjoying the sun. And yes, heels are a bad choice when you're being yanked by a headstrong dog, but all my sensible shoes have gone on adventures and are in need of de-mudding, drying out or re-stitching!