Definition of a classic: a book everyone is assumed to have read and often thinks they have.

Theme Thursday today, and leaving the post again to the last minute has me striving to think outside the BOX.

This is a - hopefully - moody little photograph of what I believe is Earth's most unpopular bird feeder. We have no cats, no dogs, plenty of birds about, lots of healthy and nutritious bird seed, and a beautiful BOX feeder right there waiting to be visited; but not one. None. Zero. Keiner. Neviens. Absolutamente ninguna!

Comments

Megan said…

Well, it's pretty spooky.

8 April 2010 at 15:13

Julie said…

Hah, long time between visits.

Maybe it only attracts budgies and, as we both know, they have all been smuggled.

8 April 2010 at 18:00

Baino said…

Erm are you putting any food in the feeder? Is it near a tree? Surely if you put a bit of smelly fish in there at least the seagulls will yell "Moine"!

8 April 2010 at 18:33

Brian Miller said…

maybe they dont like the brand of bird seed?

8 April 2010 at 19:44

Roddy said…

I will be honest with you. Of all the bird houses your mother and I have ever put up, I can't ever remember seeing a bird in any of them. Perhaps the birds around here aren't the homely types.

8 April 2010 at 20:19

tony said…

BEWARE OF HIGH FLYING BIRDS!

8 April 2010 at 20:44

Tom said…

the haunted bird house! or perhaps the birds are frightened off by highly spirited youngsters!

9 April 2010 at 09:33

PattiKen said…

A conundrum. I must admit, I find the feeder a bit spooky, so...

Cool photo!

11 April 2010 at 02:14

Dreamhaven said…

So strange. Maybe the birds in your area have to have it all natural,lol

11 April 2010 at 10:25

Kris McCracken said…

Too many natural wonders about, I think. Thanks all.

18 April 2010 at 16:15

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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