A Word a Week Challenge – Bisect

Bisect: to split something into two parts.

Take part in this week’s challenge here.

Palm trees and beach huts (Goa).

Palm trees and beach huts (Goa, India).

A gum tree bisected (Murray River, Australia).

A gum tree bisected (Murray River, Australia).

The pool is bisected by a line of fountains (Taj Mahal, India).

The pool is bisected by a line of fountains
(Taj Mahal, India).

A path bisects a field (near Guildford, England).

A path bisects a field (near Guildford, England).

"Dark blue sea and light blue sky were split by a knife edge of horizon, with not a wisp of cloud to mar that straight  symmetry." (Ship to Shore)

“Dark blue sea and light blue sky were split by a knife edge of horizon, with not a wisp of cloud to mar that straight symmetry.” (Ship to Shore)

Advertisements

Me and Monet

Monet had his water lilies; I have my yellow Osteospermums. Like Claude Monet, I find myself coming back to the same subject in different lights. But that, I fear, is all I have in common with the great Impressionist painter!

osteopermums at sunrise

The plants are backlit by the rising sun, which gives the whole photo a warm orange-yellow glow.
The extreme zoom has blurred the gum tree in the background, adorned by ‘specular highlights’ that glitter like jewels on the leaves.

Another day, another photo of osteopermums at sunrise.

Another day, another photo of
osteospermums at sunrise.

Slightly later in the morning, and the golden glow is fading.

Slightly later in the morning,
and the golden glow is fading.

The flowers are their natural yellow in the clear sharp light of a winter afternoon.

The flowers are their natural yellow in the clear sharp light of a winter afternoon.

An extreme zoom in the afternoon, with just one or two flowers in focus against a cloudless sky.

An extreme zoom in the afternoon, with just one or two flowers in sharp focus against a cloudless sky.

Claude Monet deserves a look in, too: this is one of the Nymphae (water lily) panels at the Orangerie, Paris.

Claude Monet deserves a look in, too:
this is one of his Nymphaea (water lily) panels
at the Orangerie, Paris.

And just for a laugh, a photograph I took of water lilies in Goa, India -- also hanging in the Orangerie.

And just for a laugh, a photograph I took of water lilies in Goa, India
— also hanging in the Orangerie. 😉

From sunrise in the first photo, to sunset in this one.

From sunrise in the first photo, to sunset in this one.

Breakfast with a Kookaburra

Friday morning at 7am, I put my corn flakes on the table and pulled up the blind on my balcony door
to find a Kookaburra perched on the gum tree in front of my flat. (How Aussie is that?!
All that was missing was a kangaroo hopping past, though we don’t get a lot of them in Sydney.
Mind you, I did spot a possum on the tree late one night! It seemed as surprised as I was.)
The bird took no notice of me moving around, and very obligingly posed for a number of photos
— by which time my corn flakes were a soggy mess.

Kookaburra in a gum tree, Sydney, July 2013.

Kookaburra in a gum tree, shortly after sunrise,
Sydney, 26 July 2013.

The sun poked over the clouds blanketing the horizon, giving a lovely orange tinge to the bird's feathers.

The sun poked over the clouds hugging the horizon,
giving a lovely backlight to the bird’s feathers.

I wonder caught its attention?

I wonder what caught its attention?

I ventured onto the balcony (briefly! it was only 7 deg Celsius at 7am!)  but the best line of sight was from my lounge room window.

I ventured onto the balcony
(briefly! it was only 7 deg Celsius at 7am!)
but the best line of sight was from my lounge room window.

You’ve probably heard the term “Laughing Kookaburra”.
They really do sound like crazy human laughter —
there’s no mistaking when one is in the neighbourhood!
I always wonder what the white people of the First Fleet in 1788 made of
this sound echoing through their rough tent settlement.
Luckily for me, my breakfast companion was silent.  🙂
You can listen to one here.