Nature's Place

 
A beautiful sunny day. Down by the river where ordinary people go. I met Margaret, a 75 year old lady who talked a lot. A chatterbox. I gave her some time.

As I turned away from her I saw out of the corner of my eye a Willy Wagtail take an insect in mid-flight. With a twist of the tail and a flick of the wing it was in position to pluck it from the air with ease. A slow flying beetle, probably never saw it coming.

I also saw a Pee Wee trip up in the twig and leaf litter below a bush. I had to laugh at that.

How could a natural creature actually trip up? But they do. And he caught himself and continued in his stride unbroken.

It was early morning and they were both out chasing insects, mostly along the ground.
 
The wagtail has a number of tactics to startle prey into moving so it can see them. If it doesn’t move there is no visual trigger to action, no contrast in the scene from one moment to the next.

Often it will fan its tail and wag it from side to side, hence the Wagtail, which may have the effect of disturbing some insects.

One of its tactics is to raise its wings rapidly above its head as it hops up in the air, perhaps to startle any resting prey into movement. And for a better view and to use its cloaking shadow to better see in the harsh Australian sunlight.

That would reduce the glare from the ground in front making it easier to see from the shade of its wings.

Then dash up on the fateful creature and gobble it whole.

A menacing prospect for any insect in view of it.
 
The Pee Wee is a prince who just struts about, confident from its higher vantage point. It is twice the height of the WW.

Perhaps overconfident on occasion. Could that be? Or just prone to the inevitable mistake like the rest of us.

And in this place, near the river, there was seemingly no end to the feast that I rarely saw.
 
Not far from the river.

I came across something interesting. A near desiccated green tree frog, undamaged as far as I can see. There is a pile of pine needles out back of the house and I looked down as I passed it and noticed this strange looking thing.

It was still drying out since there was fluid still exiting its body, life still exiting its body. Maybe it died of cold or hunger, or both. It has been cold lately and there is very little insect life to be seen around the place, food to a frog.

From its position and posture it would have simply stopped on the pile and not moved again.

Well, every body dies. It’s the way it is.

The picture says it all.
 
Copyright Reserved / Mark Berkery
 

 
It has been raining for a few days now. And c-c-cold in the morning. Today it was just drizzling. Enough to get wet on a long walk home.
 
One good thing about living in the country is you get to walk or hitch home when you leave the car at the mechanic’s.
It really slows one down, inside. No kidding!
 
He, the mechanic, offered me a lift home, gratis, but I declined. They give enough as it is, fitting me in on short notice.
 
On the way back I got two lifts part way. One from a local fellow driving an almost worn out 4WD who has worked for the council for thirty years and now looks after his sick wife.
A pleasantly simple man.
 
The other from a Muso with a hat. He was a stylish fellow with a clear eye. I have worked carrying musicians around Ireland and England and I just knew he was a muso when I got in the car.
They have an air about them. Or a look.
 
On the road home I saw a dead black snake. I haven’t seen many snakes since I got to Wooyung and I love those creatures. It was only a baby.
It’s in the character of snake to be loved. Wouldn’t you agree? Magnificent creatures.
And later the occasional suspicious farmer, not knowing what to make of me taking photo’s on the road. But curious.
 
Along the side of the road I saw many flowers, some strange, some considered weeds. All beautiful. And one Hoverfly.
Beautiful beings indeed.
 
Being being a body, of fly or flower, you or me. The life that makes all one. Eliminating the conflict of being the many.
Acknowledge enough the being of beauty and it fills the mind. While the other drains away.
 
Copyright Reserved / Mark Berkery
 

 
The fields are misted over in the early morning as the sun comes up. Seen through the kitchen window.

It has been very cold at night in Wooyung but soon after sunrise, say a couple of hours, it is warm and sunny. Beautiful weather.

Early in the morning the pollen collectors and nectar eaters are in the garden checking out the flowers for something to take home. Or to take them to the next feeding place.

Bees, Birds, Hoverfly’s, Wasps, Flies, Butterfly’s. There is the appearance of inactivity in the cold of this winter but it is relative – in the mind.
 

Dandelion’s are most profuse at the moment, having been let grow for some time, beautiful yellow – leaf green yellow. And all the other flowers you see, I can’t remember names.

What can survive the cold of night does so well for the golden sunlight during the day and the ever present moisture from condensation – the nights gift to the day.

It is really quite deep, green, golden natureful. Red. Yellow. Beauty. Simple colour, texture, sound.
 
Sense. Beautiful sense.
 

It is a pleasure examining the nature for inclusion here. To acknowledge the beauty the sense of nature is – is to acknowledge the purity of the psyche that nature is inside.

Acknowledgement occurs inside. And the more I do it the less of the ‘other’ there is. Subject to testing, of course.
 

Want to know the sound of self dying? It is the same old stuff of unhappiness, in all the forms you know. Culminating in, ‘There’s something wrong here!’ No need to name it any more than that.

As long as I don’t grip it in belief I pass on through. Or it passes on through. Either way it dies.

In the end. Where endings happen.

Copyright Reserved / Mark Berkery

 
Not a bee of the pollen collecting kind. And not a friend necessarily known.

But busy, busy man. Too busy to really hear the flowers unfold. Collecting pollen of the psychic kind. Sticky stuff – already.

So busy, the pressure mounts unseen till it bursts its banks and brings all traffic to a screeching halt. Horns a honking.

Mental traffic. If I am real enough, no otherwise. Not before a crash.
 
Sitting at his desk a talkin, the phone rings, he answers – two conversations! The door knocks, he says ‘come in!’ Three, would you believe it?

Standing there talking on the phone. ‘No, don’t interrupt me, can’t you see I’m talking?’ Busy man, important man.

Is heading for a systems challenge. If he’s real enough.

“I don’t think so!” Say’s he.
 
She, a momentary glimpse of character – follow me being? The real in the chink in the sometimes necessary worldly but wearying play of personality. Mutually, silently agreed.

An awkward capture. Beauty, being – loves need.

Filling up with woe of man?

On my mind. I see Thee.
 
Tippin me hat to ya, good people!
 
As chaotic as the world appears at times there is integrity to it. The justice of returns. What I give I get, invariably. Though not always recognisably.
 
Existence, sense, is the canvas I work my magic on. Through the psyche, inside. The magic of what I attend to, be it light or dark, manifests. And just because it’s called one or the other doesn’t make it so.

Thank God for the simple good – of being a body of sense and not a mental creature.

It’s nice to be at ease of mind enough to enjoy the sunshine, the birdsong, the green grass.
 
No really! Enjoy the sunshine, the birdsong, the grass. And the way to do it is be in the senses and not thinking.
 
It’s a matter of focus.
 
Copyright Reserved / Mark Berkery
 

 
An unremarkable creature to the naked eye. But once you get up close it is apparent this is a creature of God – whatever that is. Created by an unfathomable intelligence.

God the holy, the unspeakable, the one that has nothing to do with the many of what men think or believe. The being behind and in it all.

No problem. A good old Aussie attitude.

God’s an Aussie.
 
It has been cold on and off, depending on the clarity of the sky at night. If it’s clear it’s cold, cloudy is warmer. Just like inside. And it has been raining a lot too.

The lacewing came visiting a few nights ago. Attracted to the heat and light of a bulb I leave on to keep the insects out of the house. Some get in anyway. There are few enough now.

This Lady was meandering around the table across all sorts of colour and terrain so I got some dead leaves from the ground outside for it to be at home on.

Maybe, I don’t really know if it was at home but it was easier to shoot it on the leaves, easier to see it against the lighter background.

It didn’t move too fast so I was able to get a few good shots before its time was up. Time to be put back outside.
 
Isn’t it a beautiful creature, and those eyes? They are almost metallic reflective, you can see where it is close to the leaf’s surface it reflects the whiteness of the leaf.

I don’t know why the eye reflects those colours where it is in focus and out front.

But there is truth to the saying the eye is the window to the soul, the true nature.

This little beauty has magic inside. Golden magic.
 
There is nothing in between.
 
Copyright Reserved / Mark Berkery
 

 
For anyone who read the schoolboy comics of the sixties in Ireland and England that is the ‘sound’ of a boy being bashed. Boy’s got bashed.

Today it means something else to me. Having spent some time at a photographic forum I have come to know B I F as the acronym for Birds or Bees In Flight.

They are a favourite ‘capture’ of the more accomplished photographers. There is a sense of accomplishment in getting them in focus, since that is not so easy.
 

I haven’t done well at all with birds but I got some B I F’s a few weeks ago.

It was just after the winter got here. The Passionfruit flowers were all but finished.

One day I went to get a few fruit from the plant and I noticed a couple of flowers were attracting bees in the last light of the day.

I got the camera and watched the bees for a little while to see what they were doing. I noticed they approached the flowers from one general direction and at roughly the same distance from me.

With this information I was armed for action, B I F action. So I set up an ambush.
 

I chose the most active flower and locked focus roughly where I thought the bee was going to enter it to collect the pollen.

I didn’t use a tripod, I used a stick planted in the ground which gave me vertical stability and enough to/fro manoeuvrability to change the point of focus at will – with focus locked.

As soon as the bee entered the field of view I shot, and shot again. As often as possible to increase the possibility of a good in focus image.

And it worked.
 

It’s a mechanical world, every action has a reaction, and it is predictable. As long as I have enough information, which I get from observation. And the ability to see my intention through.

The same goes for my own self, my own mind, as long as I can observe objectively. Not as easy to do as it is said.
 

Bee’s love pollen, whatever else can be said of them, they love it. And they will collect it for as long as they can before going home for the night. It is what they do.

And I love them for it, apart from the fact I love the honey they make. A wonderful food from a wonderful creature’s love for the work it is made for.

When there is such a wonderful flower as the Passionfruit flower to collect the pollen from we are truly blessed. And not only for the opportunity to capture some B I F’s.
 

Thank you Bee, thank you Flower. Gratitude for the simple things cuts through a world of pain.

When the need arises.
 
Copyright Reserved / Mark Berkery
 

 
A singular swirl of colour in the deep of mind, red on white, on black. Nowt else. Being flower, the beauty of it.

Mystic red pervades my inner sense, as honey to a hungry ant.

In an old basket hanging from a tree down by the holed water tank, the flower blooms.

While one part dies from lack another part grows from need.

Life and death, not so far apart. One a threshold to the other.

Form, the tightrope we walk. Till we realise, there is no net.

Falling, letting go, giving up. Till there is no fear.

To nothing, no thing, to sense, but be.

As I always am. Inevitably.
 
Copyright Reserved / Mark Berkery
 

 
This fellow has been sitting in my files for a while. Just waiting for the opportunity to present himself, or is it she?
 
I was walking by the Brunswick River one day when I came upon her. The track runs by the river bank and as I got close to the edge to see out across the water I noticed this wonderful Dragon soaking up the morning sun on the rocks below me.

She has the feel of a time long gone, with her horned armour skin, those deadly claws and the earthy camouflage and colouring.

And the face, she is a no nonsense creature, as all natural beings are.
 

The first sense that entered my consciousness was of the privilege it is to get so close to a wild Water Dragon. Because she allowed it.

Nature doesn’t make mistakes. She would have heard me coming long before I saw her so she didn’t have to be there for me to see.

She could have been gone in the blink of an eye, she is that quick when need arises.

But instead she sat stock still for me to photograph, occasionally moving a little this way or that, but never alarmed by my focussed attention.

Nature can tell when danger approaches, it’s in the psyche and can’t be hidden, except by the truly adept. And the truly adept have no malice.

All the natural creatures are connected in the psyche, to one degree or another.

She saw me coming, inside. And she saw no harm in me.
 
Copyright Reserved / Mark Berkery
 

 
It has been lovely and mild weather today, not cold and not hot, but warm in the sun. And many beautiful flowers in bloom as well. A lovely day it is today.
 
I spotted him from a distance of five metres. Slowly crawling along the wall of the living room at about waist height. The short black shadow on the old ‘white’ painted wall was unmistakably live.

When I saw it was an ant I got the camera to see what he looks like close up. Ants are fascinating creatures, deserving of special consideration for their role in Australian ecology.

They are the ever present recycler’s, tillers of the soil, cleaners of the otherwise left to rot. Mighty ant, caretaker of this ancient land.

He probably came into the house on my back, perhaps having fallen from a tree or bush where I had been inspecting. Or through the screen door with holes in and around it.

Either way he was in and he was no doubt looking for food. What else? A mate? Maybe that too.
 
I tried photographing him on the wall but it didn’t work for some reason I forget. So I captured him in a drinking glass and placed the glass on a white board to better see him.

The few shots of him through the glass were not very good, distorted and out of focus. But an interesting perspective all the same.
 
He is clearly a warrior, ranging alone across strange lands and often difficult terrain. My living room would be a truly alien place if he thought of such things.

I think he doesn’t, he senses the things he comes to without a thought for strange or familiar. Though these things would register in his magnificent ant mind, as what they are in sense, not thought.
 
See his weaponry? Those pairs of horns pointing rearward from two different segments of his beautiful black body. These would keep anything attacking from behind well away from the segment that I suspect contains the brain and the head. Probably the ant could live without the unprotected rear body segment, though maybe not for long.

But what would attack such an ant? Spiders don’t, they are too well matched in strength and ferocity. Frogs don’t, they are too small for a frog to eat and probably serve to keep the frog clean too. I can’t speak for any other creatures though.

Any attacker would have to be formidable indeed to brave this dark ant knight. Sir Ant! I dub thee.
 
I took a few shots of him while he was in the glass that night which turned out ok. I like the ones with the shadow and the reflection. The one through the glass is also interesting.

I didn’t try to photograph him outside the glass the night I caught him, it was just too dark and he was too lively. I don’t use artificial means to keep the insects still; I just manage the situation if I can.

So it was in the glass for the night, sitting on the stool where I left him. The next day when I went to him he was very still so I took him out to the light of the sun to warm him up, even though he might just walk away.

But I had a little trick ready. I knew he’d be hungry so I put some honey on a seashell and pushed the shell under the glass until he found it. Then I could take the glass away.

The honey kept him occupied for a while. Long enough for me to get some decent photo’s anyway. And uninterrupted by the glass.

In one you can see him clearly supping the honey and you can also see the sensors he uses to taste the honey, another kind of antennae. And he doesn’t sink into the honey with his front feet.

Interesting things to notice.
 
Never mind the name, look at the magnificent design, the beauty of his colour and texture. One simple wonder of our Earthly existence.
 
Copyright Reserved / Mark Berkery