gone to graveyards, every one

footpath

dust

Sydney at 6.13 this morning. Dust rolling in from Broken Hill. Taste of it in the air. End of the World. I'm off out to get coffee now. Maybe I'll start smoking again?

saturated spring

lunch with Fried Krill

Sydney winter sky

The trumpet of a prophecy! O Wind,
If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?





Ah, Percy Bysshe, I do love poetry about behinds.

and you don't stop