The stillness in the wind

There is stillness deep inside the hurling, howling wind. A dozen golden, fragile grass stems entangle and make a star above a patch of bright pink vygies. Clifton beach is flattened to a golden disc. The southeaster takes the silver trees and makes them sing.

And in the wind are the things that stand firm. The mosque on Signal Hill. Table Mountain.

Wind-tangled grass stems.

Wildly dancing watsonias.

Clifton: wind-swept, deserted, golden.

Chinchirinchees stand sweet in the wind.

Painting with moonlight

Tonight the half-moon’s quicksilver light slips and slides over the mountain through billowing tangles of cloud flying in from the ocean.

Cold fronts are beautiful.

It's raining moonlight as I move my camera from the moon to the city lights.

Painting with moonlight as I circle the moon with my camera.

Magic Mountain. Upper cable car station shrouded by clouds.

Alchemy of walking

Here are the fruits of a one-hour amble along the feet of the twelve apostles (the Table Mountain ones). Feet that felt heavy, legs that did not feel like walking. But as I put one foot before the other on the pipe track, my heart stretched open to the mountains and the blue sky. Miss Grumpy was transformed into Ms Lightfoot, tra-la-la. And just look at these beauties.

Sunset caterpillar.