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This is what rivers and creeks usually look like around here. But the River Gums knows that water flows every now and then and that water sinks under those sands so they grow along the banks anyway.


  1. The old gnarled gum trees make a lovely landscape.

  2. The trees don't have to struggle for water this year!

    Happy travels!

  3. Hi Joan. My husband has just been looking through your blogspot with me and we had the same thought when we saw this particular picture. It looks like a spot, on the way from Wilpena down to Yunta, where we stopped for lunch in the early 90's!!

  4. Hi Susan, wouldn't I love to be having a picnic at such a spot on this warm but not hot Sunday. Perhaps I will have to go have one in my own mountains instead. This particular creek is on the Wilpena-Blinman road ...a bitumen road these days ... wow when we were in the Flinders 30 years ago it was dirt way back before Quorn, we ate dust for a week and it was hot summer weather too.

  5. Thanks Joan. Yes, a good picnic day here too. Enjoy yours.
    Thanks for your reply, we had a chuckle remembering the many dust sandwiches we ate too!
    We get a real kick out of travelling vicariously and appreciate it. Cheerio :D


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The end

I retire from the workforce this week and to celebrate have decided to retire my current blogs and start afresh with a single consolidated blog - My Bright Field - to record the delights of my new life adventure.
If you are interested follow me over there.  I will still be Sweet Wayfaring and collecting Royal Hotels.  The delights I discover along the way will appear together with my gardens and towns where I live.

Blue Wren

Having finished the circuit at the zoo we settled down for a nice lunch at the cafe. This chirpy little blue wren came close to our table while his brown wife Jenny jumped playfully on the grass. Nesting swallows swooped in an out of the rafters.
Musing:The Blue Wrens and the Butcher Bird by Judith Wright
"Sweet and small the blue wren
whistles to his gentle hen,
"The creek is full, the day is gold,
the tale of love is never told.
Fear not, my love, nor fly away,
for safe, safe in the blackthorn-tree
we shall build our nest today.
Trust to me, oh trust to me."

Cobwebs they gather and dry grass,
greeting each other as they pass
up to the nest and down again,
the blue wren and the brown wren.
They seek and carry far and near,
down the bank and up the hill,
until that crystal note they hear
that strikes them dumb and holds them still.

Great glorious passion of a voice--
sure all that hear it must rejoice.
But in the thorn-bush silent hide
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Royal Hotel - Ganman

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