Tag Archives: Victoria
Traveller
Cloud shadows slink among verdant hills
As winged scorpions speckle the air.
The modest murmur of breeze and wave
Is punctuated by staccato calls
Of feathered sentries, alarumed
By movements both broad and subtle.
A sudden stillness hijacks all,
Water rent astride by bow and oar.
A lone traveller, immune to life,
Slices the water in a multihued dugout;
Eye set on the horizon, oblivious
To anguished muscles and sinews,
Passing through the natural world
And yet so much a part of it.
Eddies left behind are enveloped
Quickly by unseen currents;
And all that was before
Is as it was again; peaceful, silent.
The Apian Way in Victoria
Hi, my name is Randy, and I am addicted to photos of bees. I think it all started back in 1923, when I took a job as a B-girl in Las Vegas…
- Almost camouflaged among the petals
- Hyperactive in the heat, it was a challenge to get a good shot of this guy
- Not exactly Molly Ringwald
- The clean colour and whiteness of the flowers drew my eye
- Apparently, it has been a slow year for butterflies in Victoria as well as Toronto
- Really could have used a ladder to get a better angle on this gorgeous nest
- Okay, so it’s not a rose, but I needed to pun lest my head explode
- I don’t know what made this diaphanous gauze, but it was beautiful
- This third type of bee seemed almost an extension of the flower itself
Working it, in Victoria
And to prove I am not just about the flora and fauna, I present the people of Victoria…okay, just a handful, but it should give you an idea.
- She knows, right?
- A good read for a sunny afternoon
- Now we know how she chooses her skirt length
- Relaxing on the driftwood of the beach
- Fast walking, fast typing woman
- To tired to cross the road, the dog gets some help
- All the rage in the sewers of Paris and Milan
- Like this photo enough to present for second time
Aves Victorianum
Some of the fine-feathered freeloaders I saw on my trip to Victoria.
- Nestled within the canopy of a conifer, this fellow was looking for lunch
- Was really happy with the detail on this image
- Found the myriad crows hard to photography on sunny days as they are nothing but contrast
- Taking a break from the sun under the shade of water plants
- Mom and just one of her ducklings swimming through a hotel pond
- A moment’s libation at a bird bath filled with rubber ducks
- Three sparrows looking for snacks among the rocks
- This fellow waited patiently for pub diners to drop crumbs
- Something caught his attention
Victorian flora
Or the flowers of Victoria, to be more precise.
A few snaps from my wanderings around Canada’s jewel on the west coast and capital of British Columbia.
- Learning to love playing with water droplets on leaves and petals
- This reminded me of a carillon
- The colours were so rich…almost overwhelming
- I like the simplicity of this image…yet with a sense of anticipation
- I liked the juxtaposition of nature and society
- Although almost buried, the shock of whiteness blasts through
- The endless possibilities for renewal in the opening petals of a flower
- Amazing colour variations as the bark peeled back to reveal new excitement
- The sense of continuity is the form of two flowers
- Verdant beauty standing out against the brown grasses
Deer, no headlights
While moving my laptop back indoors from my brother’s back deck, I heard a noise from the cliff face above. A small family of deer were moving through the brush and seemed to be concerned about me not in the slightest.
- Peering through the brush, this one is more hesitant
- As though saying, “Don’t mind me”
- Hightailing it along the cliff face to catch up to the others
- Checking me out as I take some photos
- Not exactly what to make of the strange biped
Lady in repose
Sun and salsa music wash over a woman relaxing in downtown Victoria
Musical interlude
Long weekendless
It’s a long weekend, this weekend in Canada. We’re celebrating Victoria Day, which is a celebration of either the capital of British Columbia, a previous Queen of half the planet, or a friend of mine who blogs Victoriously.
Regardless of what we call it, however, it is a celebration of Spring (welcome to Canada) and of drinking beer on patios and at cottages—the May Two-Four weekend, as some of us older folks recall it (commemorating the Canadian single-serving case of 24 bottles).
What makes this year’s version a little odd for me is that for the last year or so, every weekend has been a long weekend, for I am a freelance writer. On any given Monday or Friday, I can choose not to work. Likewise, on any given Saturday or Sunday, you are likely to find me working. Day nomenclature has ceased to hold meaning for me.
For all intents and purposes—and I have plenty of both—the only real difference between a Wednesday and a Saturday is how many of my friends can come out to play at 2 o’clock in the afternoon. And most of my friends are in entertainment, journalism or science, so even that constriction isn’t very strict.
Admittedly, I am less likely to hold an interview for an article assignment on the weekend, but those are few and far between.
Now, my freedom comes at a price…or lack of a price, as the case may be. My pay packet is smaller than it once was. I have no health benefits but what the government gives me (welcome to Canada!). I often have to make myself go for a walk to ensure I get some exercise.
However…I don’t attend meetings. If my boss is an ass, I’m probably looking in the mirror. My commute is maybe two metres. And my drinking problem doesn’t seem to be suffering (phew!).
This morning, I seriously argued with myself as to whether I was going to work on a feature due next week or take my camera out for a walk…and it could have gone either way (I strangely decided to work on my feature).
I have no family about whom to worry or of whom I need to take care, so I understand I have a luxury of options that many feel they cannot afford.
At the same time, I watch many of my responsible friends—typically the ones who can’t come out to play at either 2 o’clock—and see them dig themselves an early grave, fighting to give their families everything except the one thing their families probably want most of all: themselves.
I may die tonight—exercising that drinking problem—or I may live for another hundred years. I don’t know. But either way, I’m not worried about it. I don’t have a timer on things to accomplish.
That’s a nice feeling.
All y’all have a great series of days that may be a weekend!