Yeh. I love it. Photo: Old buggy wheel, Hill End Museum Musing: From Country Towns by Kenneth Slessor "Verandas baked with musky sleep, Mulberry faces dozing deep, And dogs that lick the sunlight up Like paste of gold – or, roused in vain By far, mysterious buggy-wheels, Lower their ears, and drowse again...."
Photo: Old House, Hill End Musing: From House That Was by Laurence Binyon "Of the old house, only a few crumbled Courses of brick, smothered in nettle and dock, Or a squared stone, lying mossy where it tumbled! Sprawling bramble and saucy thistle mock What once was firelit floor and private charm Where, seen in a windowed picture, hills were fading At dusk, and all was memory-coloured and warm, And voices talked, secure from the wind's invading."
The historic town of Hill End has a museum and quite a lot of well preserved cottages. This rainwater tank was on one of them. Rainwater tanks are of course a very old fashioned country-style type of thing which are now very in vogue in the city as an answer to water restrictions during drought. Photo: Rainwater Tank, Hill End Musing: Rainwater Tank by Les Murray "Empty rings when tapped give tongue, rings that are tense with water talk: as he sounds them, ring by rung, Joe Mitchell's reddened knuckles walk. The cattledog's head sinks down a notch and another notch, beside the tank, and Mitchell's boy, with an old jack-plane lifts moustaches from a plank. From the puddle that the tank has dripped hens peck glimmerings and uptilt their heads to shape the quickness down; petunias live on what gets spilt. The tankstand spider adds a spittle thread to her portrait of her soul. Pencil-gray and stacked like shillings out of a banker's paper roll stands the tank, roof-w
It has been so busy at work I ended up wayfaring in Sydney for the past two weeks rather than commuting from the mountains each day. The lands beyond the mountains are a mere memory at the moment so I've loaded up the wallpaper on my computer with this pic taken in more lanquid times. The 60 km Bridle Track runs from Duramana, northwest of Bathurst, to the old mining town of Hill End. It's a picturesque drive beside the Macquarie River. I will show you some more shots from this area while I take time to catch my breath and go visit some new places. Musing: As I usually have poems here I thought you might find this collection of John Donne wallpapers interesting.
Here's one last shot of the glorious golden trees before moving on from Mount Wilson. Today is Whitsunday (and Mother's Day). Musing: From The Whitsun Weddings by Philip Larkin "The fathers with broad belts under their suits And seamy foreheads; mothers loud and fat; An uncle shouting smut; and then the perms, The nylon gloves and jewelry-substitutes, The lemons, mauves, and olive-ochers that Marked off the girls unreally from the rest. Yes, from cafes And banquet-halls up yards, and bunting-dressed Coach-party annexes, the wedding-days Were coming to an end. All down the line Fresh couples climbed abroad: the rest stood round; The last confetti and advice were thrown, And, as we moved, each face seemed to define Just what it saw departing: children frowned At something dull; fathers had never known Success so huge and wholly farcical; The women shared The secret like a happy funeral; While girls, gripping their handbags tighter, stared At a religious wounding."
With Autumn now at its glorious best we took a trip to Mount Wilson which is little pocket of beauty on the far side of the Blue Mountains. Blessed with volcanic soil and good rainfall this lovely village is home to many mature and grand gardens.