My dear old Dad loved Christmas and did his very best to provide a magical morning of surprises under the tree. During the years when he was left alone with four girls under . . .
There are shifts and changes at play. A tattooed family gazes into the distance. Their whole stance creating a question. Yes, there are shifts and changes at play. Like what the future will bring for . . .
This is a guest post I wrote for Vision and verb shortly after the very sad murder of Jill Meagher in Melbourne. This month Tom . . .
It was a slow parting, the end of many years of decline. Autumn came to echo this. Slowly, deliberately, and without an exit strategy. A one way ticket. And while he waited for the end, I photographed . . .
She and I ran around a field excited by our newly wellied feet. We climbed to the top of a hill liberated from tartan skirts and white socks. We went "skating" on a frozen lake in our . . .
My children once explained to me that although animals share our world, we treat them as inferior instead of as different. O yes they argued humans think we are vastly superior, so . . .
I lost my mother to cancer at the young age of 33. In 2013 it will be 50 years . . .
The swans are back on the lake for the winter. Just one pair, they come every year. I have to go deeper into the forest to glimpse them up close. At first they are hidden by the reeds but as I step . . .
I've always had a house full of them. . . .