Learn as much by writing as by reading.

A flock of Eastern Rosella (Platycercus eximius) grazing away at Geilston Bay High School, April 2010.

At the moment there are a good eighty-odd Platycercus eximius currently calling the grounds of Geilston Bay High School home. A fiery parrot, these buggers don't take "no" for an answer.

Indeed, just the other day, Henry, Ezra and I could be seen fighting tooth and nail with a gang of the crimson hooded toughs. It got so willing, that the crimson masks were so widespread that you could differentiate between man and beast!

Comments

Roddy said…

Who's train of thought do you subscribe to? The rosella is indigenous to Tasmania or the theory that they have only recently arrived?
One thing that I do know and that is that they are now in vast numbers.

28 April 2010 at 12:32

Vince said…

fabulous heading for this post Krispy. I love all those little brightly-coloured rosellas & parrots and similar critters - there are some really lovely parrot-sized birds on Bruny Island I noticed when we were last over there at Dennes Pt.

28 April 2010 at 19:55

Kris McCracken said…

Roddy, the rosellas were here first.

Vince! You're alive!

30 April 2010 at 19:14

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

In dreams begin responsibilities.

A life at sea, that's for me, only I just don't have the BREAD. That's right, Theme Thursday yet again and I post a photo of a yacht dicking about in Bass Strait just off Wynyard. The problem is, I am yet again stuck at work, slogging away, because I knead need the dough . My understanding is that it is the dough that makes the BREAD. And it is the BREAD that buys the yacht. On my salary though, I will be lucky to have enough dough or BREAD for a half dozen dinner rolls. Happy Theme Thursday people, sorry for the rush.

This will hurt me...

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