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Hey the earth is showing its veins around here.


  1. Good observation. The ridges really do look like veins.

    1. Yes it does. Nature is just amazing.

    2. Yeh a case of natures art. But when I looked at the image it reminded me of the back of aging hands which I also find lovely.

  2. Replies
    1. I love being surprised by nature. It is so much fun seeing things in the ordinary not just the grand vistas.

  3. Hehe, that's a good way to describe it.

    1. It's the poet in me peeping thru! Wish it happened more oft.

  4. Is it that new fangled method of lanndcare that funnels moisture and soil around paddocks? The one advocated by Peter Andrews?

    1. No the ridges are rocks not soil. There was quite a big section of them.

  5. Whoa - that looks weird. I don't think I've ever seen anything like that before.

    1. Looking at it now it looks as if a farmer ploughed around a tree but I am sure the rocks predated the tree by millions of years. Yeh weird.

  6. Good analogy. It looks like the back of my hands.


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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

And I wrap up this trip with the Royal Hotel at Ganman.