Sweet Wayfaring

Now I've shown you plenty of open sheep country that looks like this. Tomorrow I will show you something that appears in this type of country that I haven't shown you. Musing: To Sleep by William Wordsworth "A flock of sheep that leisurely pass by One after one; the sound of rain, and bees Murmuring; the fall of rivers, winds and seas, Smooth fields, white sheets of water, and pure sky; I've thought of all by turns, and still I lie Sleepless; and soon the small birds' melodies Must hear, first uttered from my orchard trees, And the first cuckoo's melancholy cry. Even thus last night, and two nights more I lay, And could not win thee, Sleep! by any stealth: So do not let me wear tonight away: Without Thee what is all the morning's wealth? Come, blessed barrier between day and day, Dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous health!"

After the sumptuous poplars of the last three days it's almost a shock to post a picture of the open country. We stopped to see what I could do with photographing one of the stubble fields, and to my surprise there was yet another abandoned house in the middle of it. The first book written by Colin Thiele, a famous Australian children's author was "The Sun on the Stubble". I remember laughing my way through the radio reading of it on the ABC Children's Hour. Musing: I found this quote from Colin Thiele from a 7:30 report TV interview. "We sucked up this country through our boot soles. It's in our blood. We'd never lose it. I have a great affection for it. I like the open countryside and this was certainly open enough!"

Late afternoonm, at the school, Molong Musing: There's a certain slant of light by Emily Dickinson "There's a certain slant of light, On winter afternoons, That oppresses, like the weight Of cathedral tunes. Heavenly hurt it gives us; We can find no scar, But internal difference Where the meanings are. None may teach it anything, 'Tis the seal, despair,- An imperial affliction Sent us of the air. When it comes, the landscape listens, Shadows hold their breath; When it goes, 't is like the distance On the look of death.

James Jordon at Points of Light is a photographer I admire not only for the captivating beauty of his work but also for his willingness to share tips on how he achieves these results. He writes of the Red Rule – “If you see something red, shoot it!” I think the little bit of red adds something to the golden gorgeousness of this shot. Musing: Binsey Poplars (Felled 1879) by Gerard Manly Hopkins MY aspens dear, whose airy cages quelled, Quelled or quenched in leaves the leaping sun, All felled, felled, are all felled; Of a fresh and following folded rank Not spared, not one That dandled a sandalled Shadow that swam or sank On meadow and river and wind-wandering weed-winding bank. O if we but knew what we do When we delve or hew— Hack and rack the growing green! Since country is so tender To touch, her being só slender, That, like this sleek and seeing ball But a prick will make no eye at all, Where we, even where we mean To mend her we end her, When we hew or delve: After-comers cann...

Polars at not native trees but are popular in the farmlands. They don't colour well in the mountains (perhaps it is too misty and damp) but over the hills they go glorious golden so I was on a mission to get at least one good shot. Musing: From The Poplar by Richard Aldington "I know that the white wind loves you, Is always kissing you and turning up The white lining of your green petticoat. The sky darts through you like blue rain, And the grey rain drips on your flanks And loves you. And I have seen the moon Slip his silver penny into your pocket As you straightened your hair; And the white mist curling and hesitating Like a bashful lover about your knees.

Welcome back, we are on out way to Molong for a weekend exploring more of Cabonne Country. Expect to see my usual loves -- farmland, fences, old buildings and more -- but first a brief rest in the city at Cook's Park in Orange. I've even found time to match poems or writings with all this series, such pleasure wandering among words, almost as good a wandering around the country. There is a certain richness about this time of year ... the light is luxurious and the cooler is weather perfect for curling up with a volume of poetry. Musing: Love's Philosophy by Percy Bysshe Shelley "The fountains mingle with the river, And the rivers with the ocean; The winds of heaven mix forever, With a sweet emotion; Nothing in the world is single; All things by a law divine In one another's being mingle;-- Why not I with thine? See! the mountains kiss high heaven, And the waves clasp one another; No sister flower would be forgiven, If it disdained it's brother; And the sunlig...

That's the end of this trip and here's a photo taken in Cook's Park in Orange on our next trip when the autumn leaves were at their peak. But you can wait a week to see the rest of the shots from that trip. I've started a new short adventure back home on the Blue Mountains Journal today. See you over there.

Coming down from the mountain we made one last discovery on the way home, Lake Canobolos which is just outside the city of Orange. It's a lovely picnic area that reminds me of Canberra. I guess it was the lake, exotic trees beginning to show their autumn colour and the golden sunshine.

The snow gums at the summit of Mount Canobolos were quite a change from the open farmlands we had just left, preparing us for our return to the forests of home.

We decided to return via Mount Canobolas which is near Orange. As we climbed, the mountain met the clouds, so whatever view there is from the summit we couldn't see it. Communications towers came in and out of sight as the mist swirled around.

And one last shot of the farmland before we make tracks home.

Another abandoned house seen on a back country road. Musing: From Soldier's Farm by Judith Wright "He asked for nothing but the luck to live, so now his willing blood moves in these trees that hold his heart up sunwards with their arms. The mists dissolve at morning like his dreams and the creek answers light as once his eyes; and yet he left here nothing but his love."

Here we are at the flour mill at Manildra. It's a large complex, as I said yesterday, the largest mill in Australia. I was surprised at how small the town itself is, just 400-500 people.

I liked this set of garages, photographed in Cudal when I was taking a shot of the Royal Hotel. We passed through Cudal on our way to Manildra the home of Australia's largest flour mill. I'll show you that tomorrow.

On a drive out from Canowindra I found a new shot for my haystacks series . I think it's my best so far.

The rain on the rich red soil country around Canowindra made for interesting skys.

Royal Hotel Canowindra We swung back east from Parkes to the town of Canowindra. True to form, most of the towns we visited have a Royal Hotel, allowing me to add extensively to my royal collection. I still haven't figured out the reason behind the large number of Royals. I thought for a while it might have been something to do with them being Royal Mail Coach stops ... but the architecture shows them being built over such a wide spread of years that seems unlikely. Royal Hotel Parkes Royal Hotel Orange Royal Hotel Manildra Royal Hotel Cumnock Royal Hotel Cudal

At Parkes the Radio Telescope is the big thing in town ... actually a little way out of the town. Musing: From the Holy Bible Psalm 8:3-4 (New International Version) "When I consider your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars, which you have set in place, what is man that you are mindful of him, the son of man that you care for him?"

Driving further west I find the land a little less interesting. The wheat is harvested in the summer time so most of the fields are looking bare at the moment. Musing: From Ode to Autumn by John Keats "While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day, And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue; Then in a wailful choir, the small gnats mourn Among the river sallows, borne aloft Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies; And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;"

Spotted on the outskirts of Peak Hill. Musing: The Australian version of a well known song "Cos "I've been everywhere, man, I've been everywhere, man. 'Cross the deserts bare, man; I've breathed the mountain air, man. Of travel I've had my share, man. I've been ev'rywhere. Been to: Tullamore, Seymour, Lismore, Mooloolaba, Nambour, Maroochydore, Kilmore, Murwillumbah ... [it goes on and on]

The town of Obley is no more. Just a few remaining houses and ruins, a map showing what once was and the war memorial still standing proud. Musing: By Barcroft Henry Boake (1866-1892) "Out on the wastes of the Never Never – That's where the dead men lie! There where the heat-waves dance forever – That's where the dead men lie! That's where the Earth's loved sons are keeping Endless tryst: not the west wind sweeping Feverish pinions can wake their sleeping – Out where the dead men lie!"

Over the road from the shearing shed this abandoned house made for an interesting image. Musing: From a children's nursery rhyme "Little Bo Peep has lost her sheep And can't tell where to find them Leave them alone, And they'll come home Wagging their tails behind them." Home looks a bit sad here!

Shearing sheds are a common sight in this part of the country. Where sheep are shorn and their fleeces classed and bailed. Musing: And an Australian folk song to go with it "Out on the board the old shearer stands Grasping his shears in his long bony hands Fixed is his gaze on a bare-bellied "joe" Glory if he gets her, won't he make the ringer go Chorus Click go the shears boys, click, click, click Wide is his blow and his hands move quick The ringer looks around and is beaten by a blow And curses the old snagger with the blue-bellied "joe" In the middle of the floor in his cane-bottomed chair Is the boss of the board, with eyes everywhere Notes well each fleece as it comes to the screen Paying strict attention if it's taken off clean

This is wide open wheat and sheep country. Trees with low hanging branches get a haircut at the height the animals can reach.

You know you are in the country when the heritage wire fence is the real deal. Enough of this indulgence. It's time we moved on from Molong.

You know you are in the country when there's a windmill in your street.