The five sisters of Burke Road North

Unlike the Queen I have never planted a tree, but I do admire people who do.  They make a gift to the future and place a vote of confidence in continuity.  I lack their patience.

All roads lead to Rome except Burke Road North, which leads to bedlam.  Well, actually, it leads to Kew, but is is very busy.  No doubt maddened by the constant swish of car tyres and potato-potato-potato of passing Harley Davidsons, one resident built a large white wall to block the Road from sight and mind.  But this anonymous hero also had the foresight to plant five cedars along the wall.  And here they are, many years later, capturing the endless gloaming of a Melbourne spring evening.


Portrait of a huge fan

Turbines are machines that extract energy from a fluid flow (like wind) and convert it into useful work.  This wind turbine harvests wind on the roof of the Melbourne City Council building and converts it into a cheery bright yellow spectacle for passers-by.  Oh … and I think it ventilates the building too.


‘The future belongs to Patriots’ – President Trump

… somewhere in sands of the desert

A shape with lion body and the head of a man,

A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,

Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it

Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.

The darkness drops again; but now I know

That twenty centuries of stony sleep

Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,

And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,

Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?



Driving under the influence of autumn

There is an Arabic proverb that a soul can only travel as fast as a camel.  It turns out, therefore, that we not only need windscreens on cars, but also some sort of gadget to retain our souls.  That is, we have managed to find a way to keep bugs out of our teeth whilst driving, but it seems car design has not adequately provided for eternity.

I imagine this autumnal leaf got the surprise of its life when it was blown off the windscreen at 60 kilometres an hour.



Cheap bakery jam and semi precious stones

It is nicer to call a stone ‘semi precious’ than to call it cheap.  But isn’t that what semi precious stones are?  Cheap, I mean.  Don’t get me wrong, I like cheap things.  Cheap bakery jam is, for example, difficult not to love: sweet, grainy, lush, and the red (strawberry?) type when it sets all dark and glossy looks just like a semi precious stone in a large gold tone setting from the home shopping network.

This tart is not semi precious, I would say it is priceless.  It is not jam, it is a cabochon garnet, pooling in a setting of golden, oven-kissed dough.


Can Can in the manner of Degas

… well not quite.  I love supermarket shopping.  Not really, but I do love the effort graphic designers go to in order to lure shoppers with colourful packaging.  In the animal kingdom coloured feathers and elaborate courtship dances perform a similar function.  I don’t think I’ve ever seen a can of fizzy drink as pretty as a butterfly, but some are pretty good.  Here is an array of sugary tooth rot containers next to a copper cup.  Copper is very hard to paint, by the way.

Can Can Can