Cosy Corners

I am taking part in the Daily Post Weekly Photo Challenge: CORNER

Corners can have bad connotations you don’t want to be sent to the naughty corner or be backed into a corner or even cornered by a pushy person.

But the corners in my post are more the cosy or the useful kind. There are times you need the comfort and structure of those sides around you.

You may need to hide in a corner…

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Black rock skink – Green Cape NSW

Even if you’re a pretend bug…

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One of the smaller displays at Sculpture By the Sea – Sydney

Or a frog in pot in a pond

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There is  a story of incredible resilience concerning this Striped marsh frog that I will relate in another post. But you may note it has deformed legs on one side.

 

Corners can be good to anchor your nest…

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Common paper wasp: Polistes humilis

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Mud-dauber wasps nests –  Sceliphron sp

or coccoon.

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Saunders Case Moth larvae.

Sometimes we seek corners out of the wind and cold and hot sun…

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or cosy corners just to snuggle.

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The Stars of the Show

I am taking part in the Daily Post Photo Challenge:  Ooh Shiny!

(The challenge this week is too find something that provides a delightful distraction, that never fails to grab your attention away from the everyday.)

When people think of Australian fauna they think of the cute and furry marsupials – koalas, kangaroos and wombats or in the bird world they think of the sight of a running emu or the sound of a laughing kookaburra.  But to my mind, it is the parrots which are the attention-getters – the stars of the Aussie show.  Colourful, intelligent often raucous and bold, they never fail to delight and distract me. Many parrot species are long-lived, some mate for life – this devotion to one another is both heart-warming and fascinating.  When we moved houses over ten  years ago, from a block surrounded by rain-forest to coastal suburbia, it was the parade of parrots I missed most . The following is part of an essay I wrote entitled, Our Escarpment Home.

The parrots were the gaudy stars of the bird show and the avian personalities we observed the closest, due to occasionally feeding them native seed mix. The king parrots were the most spectacular with their fire-red chests (and heads in males) and their backs of velvety green. Despite their regal appearance the king parrots were humble. They watched us warily with soft eyes as they ever so daintily picked at the seed. They dwelt only in the tall trees. They’d land on our high veranda railing but I never saw them descend to the ground. This was such an unbreakable habit that we witnessed quite a few in great distress one scorching New Year’s Day. The thermometer soared to 43 degrees Celsius and four kings arrived dazed on our balcony, their mouths gaping with thirst. They were beyond being able to fly or even beyond reasoning to take water from a bowl. One female collapsed in front of us. We took it inside and squeezed water from a rag into her mouth. We saw no other species of birds in the trees or deck. We assumed the others had descended lower into cooler gullies and dense undergrowth, but not the ever-tree dwelling kings. When the evening came with a cool southerly change we released the distressed parrot. She flew to a nearby tree looking somewhat stunned. We could only hope she survived her traumatic experience.

The king parrots may have dwelt in the tops of the trees but they certainly weren’t the top of the pile. That honour belonged to the cheeky rainbow lorikeets. As their name suggests their plumage is a brash assortment of colours – blue, yellow, orange and green. They are the smallest but the pluckiest of parrots, the top guns. They’d skim past the corners of our house at impossible speeds and with pinpoint accuracy. The sulphur-crested white cockatoos are four times the size of the lorikeets but fled in submission when a pair of these bossy little birds flew to the deck.

The white cockies provided the comic relief in the parrot drama. There is nothing subtle about these big birds. They’d land on the railing with a thud and pleading squawks then proceed to earn their seed by entertaining us with gawky, swaying dances, nodding heads and expressive talking. Sometimes they’d ramp up the physical comedy by hanging upside down from their perch or pretending to fall from the sky in an uncontrolled dive, only to recover with much squawking and flapping.

The blue and red, crimson rosellas were the shyest, the backstage workers. They often didn’t land on the veranda at all but picked up the scraps of seeds flung to the ground by the messy cockies or impatient lorikeets.

The largest of the parrots were the transient black cockatoos who flew through the tree tops calling to their partners with their mournful drawn-out cries. A flypast of black cockatoos was relatively rare and we would rush out to watch them as they wheeled and cried through the trees.

Some of the following photos were taken before I had a SLR camera so are of varying quality but I hope they show the beauty and some of the variety of Australian parrots.

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Rainbow Lorikeet – swift and cheeky

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Sulphur-crested Cockatoo – raucous clowns. Long-lived about 20-40 years in the wild.

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Galah (the only parrot more common here in our new home on the coast) – a comical ground-feeding waddler

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The Crimson Rosella – shy and reserved.

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Gang-Gang Cockatoo (juvenile) – Mature male has a brilliant red head.

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Yellow-tailed black Cockatoo – Large, mournful criers

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King Parrots – beautiful , gentle. My son (12 years ago) admires the handsome male.

Erupting Elements

I am taking part in the Daily Post photo challenge: ELEMENTAL

I always find that places in nature that are the most awe-inspiring are those not on the well-trodden tourist trail. They are uncrowded places where you can view the elements uninhibited by gift shops, barricades, queues and mazes of signposts. These places often have an element of danger for the unwary and you can imagine viewing the landscape as the indigenous peoples did thousands of years ago.

WATER

The first picture is a blowhole near Eden on the Far South Coast of NSW. We had a lovely bush walk through banksias to reach the spot and didn’t see a soul on our way there.  The blowhole was in fine form fed by the north-easterly swell. Massive volumes of water were forced to a height of six metres or more. There is nothing quite like seeing the swell roll in and feeling the anticipation – here it comes – boom and woosh. The air in the tunnel below is forced out and the water erupts.

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EARTH

There are places in the world where the earth’s crust is so thin that the hot mantle rises to the surface. These places of geothermal activity  give us a glimpse of the molten interior of the earth.

The following photos was taken 12 years ago at a place in the North Island of New Zealand called Orakei Korako. The park here is not far from the famous geysers at Rotorua but this place left a far greater impression on me than that more touristy town. Here water boils up in clear ponds heated by geothermal vents. These ponds are  close enough to reach out and touch (if you wanted to end up with severe burns). The air is hot smoky and sulphurous in a landscape where silica terraces are fringed by palms. All this in the otherwise cool temperate climate of New Zealand was a quite a surreal experience.  It seemed to be a scene straight out of the Jurassic age. I don’t remember the sulphur smell but judging by my daughter’s face it was quite bad.

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Written in Stone

 

I am taking part in the Daily Post Photo Challenge: TEXTURE

Who hasn’t felt a compulsion to feel the texture of a sandstone boulder warmed by the sun, a smooth pebble from the river bed or a jagged quartz crystal.  To touch a rock is to connect to the earth before, humans. Before life itself.  I feel a poem coming on, and photos of  richly textured rocks taken on my travels.

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Written in Stone

Feel my ancient armour

Pitted, cracked, creviced

Broken, battered, fractured

Crumbled, smoothed and polished.

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Battles of ice and furnace

The water, wind and waves

The violent and the grinding,

Have left these scars I bear.

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Prehistoric life crushed

Old sea beds exposed.

Fossils and living lichens,

Leave their stories here

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Touch me says the silent stone.

Feel my weight and warmth,

Gathered from billion days.

Beneath your fleeting hands.

 

By Leigh Roswen

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