Posted in Photography, Writing

Under a Cairns Sky



The red almost burns my eyes but I can’t look away. I stare at it, excited…square to sitting quietly in the dark admiring Christmas tree lights when I should be sleeping.


Flabbergasted at how quickly the colour collapses below the horizon.

It’s on show stopping hearts, bringing souls together, inspiring young dreamers, in all it’s heavenly glory-and then it’s not.

Just like that.

‘Please stay’ my inner child pleads…

-but as much as I long for its extended presence, I know it has to go.

But life’s like that though isn’t it?

My shoulders sink, unknowingly, as the red world before me, is replaced with the familiar grey of night, and I automatically turn to continue the routine of life. It’s just an involuntary reflex-the sunken shoulder thing-in response to the anti-climax of a disappearing sunset.

Perhaps tomorrow, It’ll be my turn again, to sit in the front row and watch.

Watch the colours change, from yellows to pinks to reds to greys to blues and then, to the black of night.

Perhaps not.

If not, I’m ok with that-because I can always say

I’ve been privileged enough, to see this one.


Posted in Writing

My Words are Lost






Inspired by the WordPress Daily Prompt Survival-

My words are caught in a net, this month. The net of life-and it’s stifling my ability to create.

I love to write, the urge to splash stories and thoughts onto the blank screen remains annoyingly-this is how I would describe it-in tact. Why annoying? Because they are like a yawn that desperately wants to come out, but just won’t. So I bide my time, enduring the discomfort, hoping, they will eventually flow forth, and not disappear for an eternity.

Perhaps I am not sad enough? Or perhaps I am too distracted, or too tired, or my bucket is full, with no room to ponder and dream.

The solution?

I will sit in this little chair of mine whilst sipping sweet coffee and listening to the shhhh of the breeze in my trees, outback.

I will listen to the sweet song of the bird that’s saturating the air- it is dancing elegantly with it’s words and thoughts in this moment. It’s words are not stuck in the same binding net as mine, so I will keep quiet, for a little longer, and simply listen.

See you on the flip side, my dear writing friends.

May you fill in the gaps…on my behalf.



Posted in blogging, My wordpress, Photography, Stories, Writing

The Magic Of Imagery


More Than A Photograph

Attempting  to capture the beauty of Nature holistically, with the  click of a finger seems an impossible task.


The result is simply an image that impresses upon the viewer the superficial form of the subject, is it not?

From this, the viewer draws upon their own personal tastes and formulates an impression if you will- which will almost always innacurately depict the character of the subject. 

Beauty is multi-faceted, photography is linear-true?

Nobody can claim to truly understand the duck in the photograph and nobody can claim to truly know the ducks character. 

It has pretty feathers. It has a beautiful bill, it floats on the water with spectacular ease, but that is all we can determine from the image, is it not? 

I hope not, because the second this is believed, story telling is dead.

We must make room for magic. We must make room for dreaming. We must make room for hope and inspiration and belief and admiration and creativity.

We must make room for emotion.

The point of the photo, and the magic of the image, is in it’s broader interpretation. It will be, whatever you want it to be. It will represent, whatever your unique interpretation decides. It simply serves as a key with which to unlock emotion, a flame to ignite passion, and an alarm clock with which to awaken inspiration. 

Long live the multi-faceted, emotion filled potential of the photographic image. 


Colour is everywhere
Pink and Yellow in a bloom
Delicate Faces
Perfect Red
Home in the forest
Purple Smiles
Decorative Grasses splashed with Colour
Heaven is at the top
Luscious Fields
Winding Journey inside the hills
Is this the end? Or the beginning?
A model fence with a grass blanket
The rains are coming
A lilac sky



Fairies with blue wings stand still


Posted in blogging, Daily muse, mindfullness, Photography, Writing

You will survive, it’s your destiny

WordPress Photo Challenge


Jetty, Cairns Australia


It was born disadvantaged, but it entwined itself through cracks and crevices, a tortuous path indeed.

Through ever uncertain territory, it continued it’s journey to reach for the sun, despite the odds against it.

Now, blessed with Nature’s wisdom, it flourishes like never before, as it discovers how disadvantage is never the end.

Posted in blogging, Stories, Writing

I am John


I Am John

‘I first saw him, sleeping in the front seat of his car, impossibly squashed, with his weary head resting on a pillow balancing on the window sill. It was almost 9.’




His name is John, and he lives in his car.

I walk past him twice a day in my usual hurried manner on my way to work.

For months, I didn’t notice him. For months, I walked straight past, consumed with my own thoughts, and my own life.

and he never made himself known.

He never, ever, asked me for anything, he never told me his story, he simply existed.

I remember seeing him once, cooking some beans on a little gas stove. I thought he was a backpacker, on a lovely holiday.

“That’s a clever way to see Australia if you’re on a budget” I thought.

I noticed a bunch of clothes neatly stacked in a white washing basket, others dangling out of a half open window, drying I guess.

Sometimes he would sit in his camp chair, with his personal things around him, you know, gadgets, cooking utensils, an old fashioned transistor radio, and appear to be busy, as if he was trying to organise himself.

Another time, I saw him sleeping in the front seat of his car all squashed up, with his weary head resting on a pillow, that was doubled over balancing on the window sill. It was almost 9.

He must have wondered why I never said hello, why no one ever said hello.

-and then one day, a friend of mine, told me his name was John.

“Do you know John?”-He asked

“Should I?”

“He lives in his car, you know, that little old red one?”

“Oh yeah, I’ve seen him. He lives in his car?”

“Yep. He came over to talk to me once, and I was busy, so I fobbed him off and he quieltly walked away. I felt really terrible as that’s not me, so the next day, I took him a bag of oranges and some bananas. He stared at them for ages, looked at me like he was confused and said-

‘I haven’t had fruit in 5 months’

He had a career, and a family, until something went wrong and he lost everything. He hasn’t seen his kids in 12 years.”

He was there, the very next day when I passed him, this time, with a purpose.

His head was down, not wishing to engage in any way, busily preparing breakfast.

“Hello, John” I said

He stopped what he was doing and lifted his eyes in my direction, but his head remained down.

“Hello” -he said faintly

He was so quiet I could hardly make out the words. There was something wrong with his eyes, I don’t know what but they had the potential to create fear in some.

I don’t think he was prepared for conversation, as he didn’t seem to know what to do with it.

I kept walking on my Merry way, I thought it best to keep moving.

The next day, I once again walked in front of his car to catch his attention.

“Morning John”

“Hi”- He instantly responded.

If I wasn’t mistaken, he almost smiled this time, and his response was clear and more definite.

For a week, I greeted him and acknowledged his presence. It was difficult to tell whether this meant anything to him or not, but he always responded with an element of surprise in his voice.

Before I knew it, annual leave was upon me, and I consequently hadn’t seen John for a couple of weeks.

I wanted to prepare a Christmas hamper for him, so I bought a little basket and filled it with essential items. Fruit, tinned food, biscuits, some sparkling grape juice, bread etc.

He was one of those invisible people.

You know those?

The ones that nobody knows, and nobody seems to care about?

There are plenty of those people around.

I call them the invisible people.

The people that believe their failings deem them an outcast, or are so unforgivable they don’t deserve to share in the gift of living.

The damaged, pained souls who have lost themselves in the consequence of past, and who have been conditioned to fear, and hide and run from everything that hurts.

Those tortured minds inside which mental illness has well and truly taken the reigns and eaten away the person that was, or could’ve been.

How do people get this way?

How do people end up this broken?

I couldn’t wait to give him his hamper, to make him realise, that someone knew now, that


As I pulled into the car park that was his home for the last 6 months, my stomach fell into my feet.

He was gone.

I drove back in the evening thinking he may have just been out, but his car park, his little piece of land he called home, was empty.

The very spot where his invisible life had been, was now a few random doves, some stained concrete and a pair of lifeless white lines.

‘But he can’t be gone’- I told myself.

I stared at the empty space in front of me for minutes, suddenly suffocatingly helpless.

It occurred to me, that I just expected he would be there, like I would be in my house, or my friends in theirs.

But he had no home, now did he? I just made that up to make myself feel better, and to convince myself he wasn’t so unhappy with his camp chair and beans for dinner.

But that’s not how it works with invisible people, now is it?

His home was not that car parking space afterall.

His address?

‘No permanent address’

Bollocks, I desperately wanted him to have the hamper, because I thought in my naive little mind, that he would realise someone cared.

-and I wanted for him to be given a gift, for christmas, so that he could share for one small moment, what the rest of us take for granted-feeling worthy of someone else’s thoughts.

But he was never going to stay, because he had given up on himself, long, long, ago, and his plans were not plans, but survival tactics, and that’s how he had to roll.

I never got to give John his Christmas hamper.

Rumour has it, he headed South to the cooler weather, a couple of days before I realised.


I know you will never read this, but I hope a little messenger is able to let you know in some strange way, that I was happy to have met you.

and to me,

You are John, and you are no longer invisible.

Merry Christmas.


Inspired by Daily Word Press prompt




To my boy


Posted in Deep, Mental Health, mindfullness, Photography, Stories, Writing

Escaping ‘The Funk’


Escaping ‘The Funk’

‘Time in the wild reminds me how much of what I ordinarily do is mere dithering, how much of what I own is mere encumbrance. The opposite of simplicity, as I understand it, is not complexity but clutter.’ -Scott Sander (Mel Leader)


The last few days, I’ve been in a funk.


Million dollar question.

Why is anybody ever in a funk? Who knows, there’s this and that and there are always a million different excuses, reasons, stories we all tell ourselves but at times it just IS, and it’s best to stay out of everyone’s way until this highly annoying mood has passed.

I am currently still waiting 🙂

For those of you who have been gifted with a smile from ear to ear from dusk until dawn, you may not understand this concept as you have quite clearly been created on the good mood planet-a place very far away from my planet, and I will forever admire, but never understand you.

Perhaps I should be rocketed away to my very own planet when the ‘funk’ hits me; that way, I could grumble and moan to my hearts content, feel sorry for myself, and flounder within the ‘big fog’ in my mind for as long as I wish until the curse has been thoroughly flushed out of my system in a completely anonymous and harmless way-Happy days, I think this would work wonderfully.

So how have I dealt with it this time?

Still dealing with it-excellent-but I popped myself in my little car, said ‘ta-taaaaa’ to my relieved loved ones, and drove to some random, random place I’ve never been somewhere in the back of a township close-by, and snapped some shots of what seemed like a boring old paddock.

Staring down the lens to re-focus my mind.

Here are a few of my ‘funk’ shots-

…and now, as I view them, I realise

‘The overwhelming large when shrunk down to the simple small is sometimes all it takes to transform the grey back to the blue.’




Sugar Cane Far North Queensland


Sulphur crested cockatoo
Sulphur crested cockatoo