Weekly Photo Challenge: Transition

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Standing, waiting for a train, I noticed what the person beside me was reading …  just had to sneak a photo with my phone.

“Good on you, mate!” I thought, as an Aussie would say, to encourage another.

Being a storyteller, I did wonder what he had on his mind …

Story Twigs the Imagination! by Meg Philp is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Non Commercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License

 
Transition

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Mohai Trio: Weekly Photo Challenge

When I was small, the photographer used to call out “Watch the birdy!”

A snazzy shot taken outside. Are these two … sisters / mothers / friends / nannies? Are they innovative? Did the kids get to pick where they sat? Did they sit in their favourite letter?  The ‘O’ kid would rather get moving.

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These figures are still looking out to the horizon, after more than a hundred years years. If only they could tell about the sights they’ve seen, about the people who carved them. Where did the museum find them? I must have read the signage but I can’t remember the name of their ships … the Honest Man … Pomona …. the Lucy Brown? Or ?

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Figureheads

What a simple pleasure to see boats, all trim and sea-worthy, all different shapes, colours, sizes, and uses: waiting to gently slip away. Who owns them? Does the young man who put the pumpkins on the prow, live on board?

What was your first boat trip like?

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I was three when my father took me out in a rowboat on a water reservoir at Glen Devon , Perthshire, Scotland.  The boat of glossy, golden wood had a little water slopping in the bottom.  The further from shore we went, the more I wanted to know how it got in. Sunlight sparkled up from the dark water.  My mother waved from the edge, and was getting smaller and smaller. It was a sunny, Spring day, they told me when we reminisced, years later. Sheep with their lambs studded the hillsides: their bleating filled the soft air. As I sat in the little seat facing my dad, I clung to one side, as he made the  oars rise and splash.  When we got into the middle of the reservoir, I started to cry for my mother, just like a lamb. The boat turned homewards.

All text and photos by Meg.

MOHAI is by Lake Union in Seattle.

Story Twigs the Imagination! by Meg Philp is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Non Commercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License.

Trio

Roses called Victory : Weekly photo challenge

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In the light of those terrible events of November 13 in Paris, I started thinking about victory … winners means losers.

This has been going on for ever.

When I was a child in Britain, there was a popular rhyme chanted around bonfires on Guy Fawkes Night.  Remember, remember, the fifth of November, gunpowder, treason and plot … When I look at the rest of the verses, the words are chilling.

Right now, the only saving grace in this challenge using the word ‘victory’ that I can find,  is that there is a type of flower called Victory Roses.

This photo isn’t one of them. These not-long opened buds are just one of Nature’s everyday surprises in someone else’s garden  – each one beautiful, growing together, like friends.

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<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/photo-challenges/victory/”>Victory</a&gt;

All text and photos by Meg

Story Twigs the Imagination! by Meg Philp is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Non Commercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License

Everyday Ornate : Weekly Photo Challenge

Nothing is more ornate that the orchid growing out of a tree in my back yard right now.

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I leave it to it’s own devices, never fertilise it … hose it when I’m watering the pots nearby.

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Every year it presents a show of flowers from the first buds opening in September till the last flower falls in May.

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Yesterday, I counted 37 flower heads and 2 buds on its 2 spikes.

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A friend gave me this Phaleanopsis orchid as a memento when my mother died in September 2006. When I cast my eyes over its loveliness, I remember mum, our times together … all her hard work to raise us … and kindnesses.

All text and photos by Meg. Story Twigs the Imagination! by Meg Philp is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Non Commercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License

Time kept on slipping



IMG_7532We had a great holiday last month. Friend  – storyteller, author  – Naomi Baltuck even posted a blog about it. We cruised on ferries. went for long walks, caught up,

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talked, listened and told, as well as heard, great stories.

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 Leaving Seattle, after a ‘history-making’ good time with Naomi is always hard.

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 I’d had an awesome Autumn.

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Flying past the luminous, snow-covered Mount Rainier at sunset made me feel small and very fortunate.

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As the plane came into land that night at LA, I watched the vast spread of city lights twinkle below us. Where had I seen this before?

Here, is where my time slip began. Perhaps you remember this –  Los Angeles in 2019 – from Bladerunner

Arriving at the Tom Bradley International Terminal was awesomely disorienting. Hi tech designs, with huge video screens, columns of light flickering above, beside and ahead of me. I had to ask the man in the iStore where the Departures info was. That’s it, in the photo, three floors up on the left!

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(Photo taken by Praytino copied under CC 2.0 licence)

I felt so disoriented, I couldn’t focus … then … I heard my my name called from the heavens. “Meg Fillip, please bghajkkljd, lkajsd, ijnn, ooa, inmpe am cfoeee. Meg Fillip, please bghajkkljd, lkajsd, innj , ooa, inmpe am cfoeee.” That helpful man in the iStore said it generally meant you were being called to your departure gate.

I hot-footed it to the distant gate which was about as ornate as a temporary hangar.  The flight attendant took my Boarding Pass and handed me a new one, unfazed by my query as to why I had been summoned. (I do have a Scottish accent, so perhaps this was dismissed as unintelligible … I was a bit stressed.) So I sat there in the departure lounge, waiting, waiting …closed my eyes to wish I was back in those cool woods again.

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When I opened them, a woman was standing in front of me, staring. “Lee!” I squeaked. Here was  a fellow Aussie storyteller I hadn’t seen in years. “I heard your name called and I couldn’t believe this was you, but I see that it is!” she laughed. I was so relieved. We hugged.

She helped me break the announcement garble. Lee heard that someone with my name had left something behind in Security. I looked around me and froze … no cabin bag …  quick march back there.

No. They hadn’t blown it up. My purple spotted, unlocked, blue carry-on was intact. A weary supervisor put down his coffee and sandwich, got it for from a back room for me – no trouble.

What a sense of relief … my feet were back on the ground again. I took this reassuring photo as I passed the bookshop. (They’re reading a book about puppies.)

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Well, I flew home safe … but not that sound. No sleep and in the dark, my mind skewed through time – dreams, images, words and background noises,  all melding together like a shimmering, Munch scream …I was encased in a swelling gum bubble showing flickers of story on the inside …

In Scottish folktales there’s lots of instances of characters slipping in time. I have never really thought about them being so disorientated … being ‘away with the fairies’ –  a hundred years pass by in a night of fiddle-playing for the fairy folk, or a man with no story to tell has a dream, or one goes exploring in a cave …

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or venturing out in a graveyard one night to visit the land of the dead. This takes the main character three hundred years, in the Italian tale One Night in Paradise. When he returns, there are strange buildings where his home used to be.

In the Irish legend of Bran’s Voyage, the sailors think they’re gone for three years, not for hundreds! When they return, the men are warned not to set foot on dry land or else!  One sailor steps off and he turns to dust. The ship and crew are doomed to sail the oceans forever. What a fate!

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Magpie in my Illawarra Flame tree

I woke up to soft light and the calls of familiar birds greeting the dawn. Later, as I walked my usual route around by the creek, the Jacarandas confirmed it is Spring time in Brisbane. I was on home ground.

Jacarandas early morning

Jacarandas early morning

I’m not “away with the fairies” now but the air is heady with the scent of Star Jasmine, and Mock Orange. And the strongest perfume of all, comes from a bush where the flowers are purple when they first open, then fade slowly with each passing day, till they are white, commonly known as

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Yesterday, Today & Tomorrow!

In the inimitable words of the Steve Miller Band, Time keeps on slipping!

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All text and photos by Meg, except Praytino’s photo as  indicated.

Some stories I’ve told featuring time slips –

One night in paradise in CALVINO, Italo. Italian folktales.

The Man with no story to tell in DOUGLAS, Sheila. The King o the Black Art and other folktales.

Story Twigs the Imagination! by Meg Philp is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Non Commercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License