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Showing posts from December, 2018

Mushroom Rock

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There’s a lot of different kinds of rock in the world, the vast majority of which, I’m sure, I know nothing about. My understanding of rock formation and geology is basic and rudimentary and couldn’t begin to touch at a comprehensive overview. I know that some rocks are sedimentary, where sand and gravel and similar material has been deposited somewhere over untold eons, in beds of rivers, or lakes or seas, and after layer upon layer of this has been put down it is then compressed, somehow, maybe by its own weight, maybe by other layers of rock lifting themselves up and folding themselves over it, or cliffs caving in and mountains collapsing and falling down on top of it. This gives sandstone and similar things. It typically shows shelving layers of rock, parallel running fragments of long shards, in which often fossils can be found: fossilised ripples of an ancient seabed, or the skeleton of a marine animal squashed flat, or imprints of seashells, sometimes occurring high on top

The Shape In The Fog

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It’s the very early morning the fog is lifting off the sea the sand of the beach is wet and the waves are singing as they crash onto the shore I run down the length of the beach between the dunes and the salt water and the fog envelops me like a blanket sounds are muffled and hushed as I settle into the rhythm of my run I relax and make myself comfortable as I run into the wild open country where there’s only trees and bushes and sea and my feet land softly on the sand splashing through the shallows of the rising tide in front of me a shape appears its outline vague and hazy in the fog it closes the distance and takes form and colour and turns out to be a woman walking steadily towards me her feet are striding across the ground her legs are long and strong and tanned her thighs are shapely and muscled she’s wearing a short blue denim skirt underneath her brown belly button her ribs rise up to her ful

Underneath The Morning Star

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Rain has fallen during the night and has given a drink of water to the earth. The air is thick and humid with suspended moisture, and balmy and warm to breathe in. Just the way I like it. After emptying themselves of their content the clouds have lifted and shifted, off somewhere else, and have left the night sky stark and clean, starry-eyed and black. The Southern Cross and its two pointers are hanging high in the southern sky behind me, Orion is drawing his bow and flashing his diamond sparkling sword belt across the bay to the west, and there, high, mighty and lonely in the dark eastern sky, sits Venus, bright and round and shiny. Not the faintest hint of a glimmer of a shimmer of impending daylight can be seen anywhere around her. It is so early in the morning that, really, it’s closer to being late at night, if not right smack bang in the middle of the night. I walk through the shadows of the banksias and the pandanuses down to the water’s edge, and wade out into the inky b