(My) Photo of the day

I will admit that today's photograph is not the most technically impressive, however I could not resist posting it. I can't say that I've ever seen four magpies all chatting happily together before (three maybe, but not four), so I was impressed enough to snap away.

Henry and I took a long stroll today along the river this afternoon and found ourselves taking a well-earned rest watching the seagulls squabble at ANZAC Park, the home ground of the mighty Lindisfarne Two Blues football club. Now, I took a few shots of their splendid grandstand, and a couple more of Henry booting torpedo punts through the middle of the sticks from 60-70 metres out, but they couldn't compete with the four magpies.

Now, you have to understand that here in Tasmania, we have a sub-species of the typical Australian magpie. Not only is the Tasmanian magpie slightly smaller than its mainland counterparts, it has a far more advanced inquisitive nature. Unlike their dim, obnoxious Collingwood brethren that some may be familiar with, Tasmanian magpies are very complex and highly intelligent birds. Now photographs being photographs, I can't share with you their impressive vocal talents, but the Internet being the Internet, I can link to a tiny .wav file that does showcase some of their work.

Comments

Neva said…

A very nice shot...love the fence!!!I had no idea about magpies and the different varieties....

27 April 2008 at 23:04

freefalling said…

One of the best sounds in the world.

What do you think of "Making History"?

28 April 2008 at 07:18

Dina said…

I loved hearing the magpies.

28 April 2008 at 07:37

Kris McCracken said…

They do sound good. We have a constant refrain of magpies and banded lapwings (plovers) around our place. This is trumped by hundreds of cockatoos at certain points of the year.

I'm enjoying 'Making History'. It's an enjoyable romp.

28 April 2008 at 21:17

Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it...

I still have the robot on the job. Here you can see the Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery . And here is a poem: Soliloquy for One Dead Bruce Dawe Ah, no, Joe, you never knew the whole of it, the whistling which is only the wind in the chimney's smoking belly, the footsteps on the muddy path that are always somebody else's. I think of your limbs down there, softly becoming mineral, the life of grasses, and the old love of you thrusts the tears up into my eyes, with the family aware and looking everywhere else. Sometimes when summer is over the land, when the heat quickens the deaf timbers, and birds are thick in the plumbs again, my heart sickens, Joe, calling for the water of your voice and the gone agony of your nearness. I try hard to forget, saying: If God wills, it must be so, because of His goodness, because- but the grasshopper memory leaps in the long thicket, knowing no ease. Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it... I like Bruce Dawe. He just my be my favourite Austral...

There was nothing left. No reason, no conscience, no understanding; even the most rudimentary sense of life or death, good or evil, right or wrong.

Here is a self portrait. I’m calling it Portrait of a lady in a dirty window . Shocking, isn’t it? However, it is apt! Samhain , Nos Galan Gaeaf , Hop-tu-Naa , All Saints , All Hallows , Hallowmas , Hallowe'en or HALLOWEEN . It’s Theme Thursday and we’re talking about the festivals traditionally held at the end of the harvest season. Huh? No wonder Australians have trouble with the concept of HALLOWEEN. For the record, in my thirty-two L O N G years on the planet, I can’t say I’ve ever seen ghosts ‘n goblins, trick ‘n treaters or Michael Myers stalking Tasmania’s streets at the end of October. [That said, I did once see a woman as pale as a ghost turning tricks that looked like Michael Myers in late November one time.] Despite the best efforts of Hollywood, sitcoms, and innumerable companies; it seems Australians are impervious to the [ahem] charms of a corporatized variant of a celebration of the end of the "lighter half" of the year and beginning of the "darke...

Hold me now, oh hold me now, until this hour has gone around. And I'm gone on the rising tide, to face Van Dieman's Land

Theme Thursday again, and this one is rather easy. I am Tasmanian, you see, and aside from being all around general geniuses - as I have amply described previously - we are also very familiar with the concept of WATER. Tasmania is the ONLY island state of an ISLAND continent. That means, we're surrounded by WATER. That should help explain why I take so many photographs of water . Tasmania was for a long time the place where the British (an island race terrified of water) sent their poor people most vile and horrid criminals. The sort of folk who would face the stark choice of a death sentence , or transportation to the other end of the world. Their catalogue of crimes is horrifying : stealing bread assault stealing gentlemen's handkerchiefs drunken assault being poor affray ladies being overly friendly with gentlemen for money hitting people having a drink and a laugh public drunkenness being Irish Fenian terrorist activities being Catholic religious subversion. ...

This will hurt me...

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