Skip to main content

Windy August

Tumbleweed

It was August (known to be a windy month of the year) and it was blowing a gale.  Tumbleweeds hurtled across our path, pressed forward by the busy wind.

While I was photographing the tumbleweed, I braved the icy blast to find a few more tiny flowers and fruits by the roadside.


Comments

  1. Lovely lovely ... I did not know what a tumbleweed was, really. It is not a specific plant, is it? Does it vary from the TW in cowboy films?

    I used to love cowboy films ... ranchers vs rustlers ... hah!

    ReplyDelete
  2. the browns are so rich ..the blooms so brave!!

    ReplyDelete
  3. Elk, I love that description ... brave.

    Julie, tumbleweeds are not a specific plant but rather a dried out plant that gets lifted out of the ground and pushed along on the wind ... some bigger than others but they all do a good job of rolling across the flat land. I tried and tried to get a good shot of them tumbling across the road but didn't succeed so settled for grabbing this rather scrawny one and anchoring it with my foot to get the shot.

    ReplyDelete
  4. Great flora once again! Wonderful images.

    ReplyDelete
  5. Tough Aussie plants. I can't stand wind especially a cold one.

    ReplyDelete
  6. I love the format you've used here, much better than a collage. I keep forgetting it's winter where you are...

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Coolibah?

Is that a Coolibah tree beside the abandoned house? Every Australian knows about Coolibah trees because the bush ballad Waltzing Matilda is nigh on our unoffical national anthem but most of us live nowhere near the inland where they grow. Once a jolly swagman camped by a billabong, Under the shade of a Coolibah tree, And he sang as he watched and waited till his billy boiled, You'll come a Waltzing Matilda with me. Waltzing Matilda, Waltzing Matilda, You'll come a Waltzing Matilda with me, And he sang as he watched and waited till his billy boiled You'll come a Waltzing Matilda with me.

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.

Brown streams and soft dim skies

I gave my husband a thick book on the history of Australian Art for Christmas. It documents just how long it took the artists to paint what they actually saw -- at the hands of early artists our wild Australian landscapes looked like rolling green English countryside. Today's photo has "that look" so I have referenced words from the poem describing England. It was Christmas Eve. We were camped by the Tumut River in the Snowy Mountains of NSW. A shady spot planted with exotic trees from the "old world" and with the soft burble of a swiftly flowing stream. Bliss after a hot afternoon drive. But the old world dies slowly, a hot roast for Christmas dinner followed by plum pudding is one of those traditions that just won't die. Knowing we were going to be on the move on Christmas Day we settled for having our traditional hot meal on Christmas Eve this year.