Some ducks I came across
Blue-hour lily-pond, two Egyptian geese, one mid-wingbeat. The koi is the hidden collectible.
View in gallery ▸
Four exhibits, pinned and strung. Tap any to see it full-screen in the Nocturne gallery.
Blue-hour lily-pond, two Egyptian geese, one mid-wingbeat. The koi is the hidden collectible.
View in gallery ▸
A cell mast trying, and failing, to pass as a Norfolk pine. Nature vs infrastructure.
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A glowing boardwalk, the only warm thing on the flat, heading into the treeline.
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Fog ate the coast; one tower survived as a waypoint. Grainy, cold, bright.
View in gallery ▸Late onto the cart across the border, and late to admit it. The land of the Nords still drags you off the road for another hundred hours.
"forgives you for getting lost in it"
Heavily biased, freely admitted. The Lands Between: the prettiest place I've been repeatedly and thoroughly destroyed.
"punishing, gorgeous, can't leave"
After a week of severe downpours on the North Coast, the Weather Service warns of more heavy rain. Roads across Durban remain cordoned off as low-lying areas flood again.
Parents gathered outside Brookdale Secondary this week, calling for a full probe into the tragedy and stronger safeguards on the school grounds.
An appreciation of gloomcore — moody, unhurried, everywhere this season — and the case that the best of it needs no overlay at all, only the right hour.
Four photographs from the North Coast, made in low light and left almost untouched. Scroll slowly. Let the weather do the talking.
The water had gone that deep evening blue a camera reads better than the eye. A koi drifted like a smudge of rust beneath the surface. Then one of the geese opened its wings — white banners against the dark — and the whole pond held its breath. No filter was harmed in the making of this picture. The dusk did the work. I simply happened to be standing there, which is most of what wandering is.
Two Norfolk pines stand shoulder to shoulder with a cell mast, as if the tower were trying, and failing, to pass for a tree. There is a whole essay in that quiet impersonation — nature and infrastructure keeping the same evening watch.
A slatted boardwalk threads across the tidal flat and vanishes into a wall of green. At this hour the timber glows faintly, the only warm thing for a mile. You walk it because the alternative is turning back, and the light is nearly gone.
The fog swallowed the coastline whole, leaving one distant tower block as the only evidence of a city. The surf came in bright and cold and grainy, like film left too long in the drawer. A grey day that photographed like a memory.