Dinner

Spur of the moment photograph by my husband.

Hanging

Only his nostrils and his eyes breached the surface. He hung midwater; relaxed, aware, ready.

Street Art

Street Art; words or paintings or both adorning otherwise blank walls, enhancing the building, brightening the dull cityscape, highlighting the beauty that is already there; is something worthwhile and a valid artform

Grafitti; random scribbles or beautiful paintings, thrown on to buildings and equipment, ignoring the existing, in defiance of authority, showing no respect or considertion; is a crime, against society, and the community.

Can one ever be the other?

Escape?

The cloud of bubbles floated past me, escaping the confines of the water, reaching for the surface and thier own environment. I should have followed, should have kicked and risen with them. Returned to air and salvation.

But I didn't.

The sight below held me.

Twitter

The chatter and twrittering caught my attention before the sight of him did. Then I couldn't take my eyes off him, or rather the camera lens. He seemd to know the lens was there to captue him. Only capture his image, but he acted like the camera would trap him for ever. When I had the camera to my face he was never still, always finding something to hide behind. And never making a noise.

Yet I let the cemera down, my arms aching, my face tired of being squished to the back of it, and he would come closer, stand still for more than a millisecond and twitte and chatter his protests.

Until I moved the camera to my face. and the whole silent, hidden; protesting, visible cycle would begin again.

Sun Reflection

Reclaimed

The sea bought with it mud and creatures, reclaimed Man's futile attempts to place life along its shores. Abandonded the structure of stone and iron borke unti; all that remained were the image of the walls and the occassional spike of rusted, shell encrusted iron.