Old New Technology

Those of us who’ve been involved with many organisations know how different working environments can be.  From cloistered offices in CBD towers to the open-plan floors of restored warehouses, they come in a variety of shapes and forms.

However, these spaces do share something in common – noise.  Modern workspaces possess common sounds:  the tapping of keyboards; the hum of servers and fluorescent lights; the flat tones of digital telecommunications systems.

Every once and a while - not often - sounds appear that are familiar but seem so alien in our current surrounds.  These echoes of the past remind us of the changes we have taken for granted but failed to appreciate:  the loud tacking of a typewriter; the high-pitched bleat of a dot matrix printer.  For me, reminiscences are strongest when I hear the unique character of an aging ceramic, dial-faced telephone.

Full moon

There are no werewolves or vampires out tonight…or at least that I can see.  I do hear howling, but I think the ambulance siren I can just make out in the distance is the cause of that.  It always seems to set off the neighbourhood dogs.

I’ve been waiting to take this shot since January.  My new camera body, my big-arse lens (the one that lets me take photos of polar bears without getting eaten) and a clear night sky have finally come together.  It’s not quite cold enough for my breath to billow white, but my beanie is pulled low over my brow nonetheless.  As I set up the tripod to take the shot, my mind wanders to the fantastic.

It’s true what they say, you know: the moon brings out the crazy folk.  After all, that’s how the term ‘lunatic’ came to be.  But behind the myth and superstition, reality gets in the way of a good story.  On those monthly rotations, when the moon overhead is full, more people are drawn into the night.  It should come as no surprise that the number of fools increases in kind.  A monthly stroll in the pale lunar light is more common than you might think.

But I won't be taking chances next time.  I'll be packing the wolfsbane and garlic just in case!

The Pink Lake

The sun is warm through the windscreen and bellies full of beer battered fish and chips, doze lazily as I drive.  Wide salt flats and twisted Eucalypts litter the landscape.  Those that remain open-eyed are hypnotised by the monotony.

Snaking its way up a rise, the road is marked with the brown, diamond-shaped sign with which we have become familiar.  Tourist stop ahead.  As I turn to the bloke beside me, he’s already started to giggle.  What’s there to see out here?

We crest and can see much further ahead than we have for some time.  He points to the left as we descend.  I spot it and in my surprise, hit the brakes far harder than I intend.  The sudden jolt brings derisive moans from the sleepers as they rouse.  “Well they didn’t lie,” the giggler concedes.

Pulling into a stopping lane at the bottom of the hill, we get out and stand at the edge of this body of water.  I’m lost for words.  I’ve seen coloured lakes before but not this big, and not this…well…lolly pink.

It is the algae that live in this lake that make it so special.  As the water evaporates and exposes them to sunlight, they release a chemical to cloud the liquid that keeps them safe.  I don’t know what that chemical is, but it’s a pretty cool party trick I’d love to learn.

Frogs and Leeches

We decide to hike one of the trails at Eungella National Park.  The air is humid, and the track well shaded from towering rainforest foliage.  Smothered in damp leaf litter, it is somewhat of a challenge to stay on the path and not accidentally create a new one.

Both of us are in shorts and runners.  I know it’s not ideal hiking gear, but we are only going a couple of kilometres to a small waterfall and back.  It shouldn’t be a big deal.

We are two thirds of the way there when it strikes me.  “Show me your feet.” She looks at me quizzically but obliges nonetheless.

“Are they what I think they are?” I nod.  Her expression sours.  “Bleh!  Let’s turn back.” Before we move, I flick the squirming creatures from her shoes and socks.

Our pace is swift despite stopping occasionally to check for more hitchhikers.  “Not happy,” she calls back as we walk.  I hang back a little, trying to figure out how I’m going to get out of trouble.  I’m not coming up with any good ideas.

As we reach the clearing, she stops suddenly.  Bending down, she hunches over something.  From the hunch of her shoulders, I know her mood is changing.  “Look,” she excitedly whispers.  “It’s so pretty against the leaves.”

It patiently waits for us to remove the camera from its satchel and capture its portrait.  I have this little, green amphibian to thank for making her forget that I had exposed her to leeches.