A quiet moment of contemplation from one of my friends. When life is a bit hectic, remember to stop and smell the mint....says she.......More contemplative rabbits here . . .
I know! I'm gadding about a lot recently. It's a long story. This week I'm in Vienna. Strikes me as a conservative and wealthy city. It's only my initial impression and I've never been here before. Right? Wrong. Turns out today is the Gay Pride March. It's my . . .
Sometimes you just snap what you can, following your photography path and documenting each step. On other days you fall into a flow, visualising the image before you even see it, lost in a reverie and yet connected to every fibre of the . . .
Like my own Grandmother in mourning for her mother since 1953, each one is wearing black. They peer from a chair in their doorways during the day but in the early morning or late at night they come out of their cosy seclusion. While the men are down in the bars . . .
When you finally get to the top of the mule trails everything opens up below; the town of Kardamili, the church at the edge of the cliff, the layers of blue mountains behind. Land, sea and sky wrap around you. The scent of sage is the memory that will linger. That . . .
It's proving a challenge to capture the colours, shapes, and sheer abundance of the wildflower meadows and olive groves here; the scents underfoot, the way the breeze rustles the seeding grasses, the buzzing of bees. The sheer number and variety of flowers and plants . . .
As I sit here in the wifi bar I am struggling to settle on a blogpost for ye. Time is short and the charge on this device is poor. Having one foot in the global melting pot of the internet and another in the sleepy seaside village world is something I could live . . .
If Ireland is green then Greece is blue. All kinds of blue, even kinds I wasn't expecting........... It starts when you turn south from Corinth. The legs of the layered peninsulas each stretch out into the Mediterranean exactly like the feet of our little bear of . . .
Spring comes early here. Delicate and lemony leaves fill the hedgerows. By the time we return, foxgloves will be flowering again on the lane. Truth be told, it's hard to leave. The privilege I feel turning into my sixth decade is overwhelming. Early losses meant that I may . . .
Do not let your fire go out, spark by irreplaceable spark in the hopeless swamps of the not-quite, the not-yet, and the not-at-all. Do not let the hero in your soul perish in lonely frustration for the life you deserved and have never been able to reach. The world you desire can . . .