Old Owl's photos

In a Café She clasps the cup with both her hands, Over the rim her glance compels (A man forgets his hat, returns, The waitress leans against the shelves). And Botticelli, painting in the corner, Glances absorbed across a half-turned shoulder Thinking of lilies springing where she walks As now she rises, moves across the room, (The yawning waitress gathers up the stalks, The ash, the butt-ends and the dregs of tea). Pausing between the gesture and the motion, Lifting her hand to brush away her hair, He limns her in an instant, always there Between the doorway and the emphatic till With waves and angels, balanced on a shell. By Rosemary Dobson Press Z to see full size, please.

HFF to all. Hope your weekend is good, enjoyable and safe.

Summer's almost here. It's getting warmer. Biggen this up by pressing Z. My country by Dorothea Mackellar The love of field and coppice Of green and shaded lanes, Of ordered woods and gardens Is running in your veins. Strong love of grey-blue distance, Brown streams and soft, dim skies I know, but cannot share it, My love is otherwise. I love a sunburnt country, A land of sweeping plains, Of ragged mountain ranges, Of droughts and flooding rains. I love her far horizons, I love her jewel-sea, Her beauty and her terror The wide brown land for me! The stark white ring-barked forests, All tragic to the moon, The sapphire-misted mountains, The hot gold hush of noon, Green tangle of the brushes Where lithe lianas coil, And orchids deck the tree-tops, And ferns the warm dark soil. Core of my heart, my country! Her pitiless blue sky, When, sick at heart, around us We see the cattle die But then the grey clouds gather, And we can bless again The drumming of an army, The steady soaking rain. Core of my heart, my country! Land of the rainbow gold, For flood and fire and famine She pays us back threefold. Over the thirsty paddocks, Watch, after many days, The filmy veil of greenness That thickens as we gaze ... An opal-hearted country, A wilful, lavish land All you who have not loved her, You will not understand though Earth holds many splendours, Wherever I may die, I know to what brown country My homing thoughts will fly.

The church of St Thomas the Martyr, Winchelsea. (As an aside, Spike Milligan is buried in the churchyard here.) Press Z, please (which seems to bring out the colours of the fruit and flowers).

It was a cold, windy and drizzling Monday morning in October on the east coast of Yorkshire. No-one was wanting to have fun ... Bigger is brighter (Press Z, please.)

Reeth, Swaledale

Skipsea, East Riding of Yorkshire. I read that this coast loses on average 2 metres of land per year. The chances are this fence will be gone in less than six months. All the same, HFF to everyone (whilst the fence is still there). Have a great and glorious weekend.

(Note to HFF friends. I’m not sure whether these can be classified as fences. Structurally and aesthetically they are almost the same, but functionally they are quite different. No matter. If you think they should be kicked out of the group I don’t mind. ’S a nice photo though, innit? Biggen it up to see it better.) Happy Fence Friday to all. I hope your weekend is a bright and lovely one.

HFF everyone. Have an enjoyable weekend. Better bigger. Press Z, please.

Perth, WA

National Balloon Championship, Northam, WA

National Ballooning Championship, Northam, WA. The balloon fiesta before the competition begins. Fifteen balloons on our sports oval in Northam, all tethered and flaming. Magnificent.

Late afternoon in winter. East to the approaching clouds. Sun starts to sink in the west behind the hills. Straight out of camera. HFF everyone.