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• George W. Bush
  by Darren Stones

  When you hear the name George W. Bush, what is the first thing that comes into your mind?

  When you hear the name George W. Bush, what is the first thing that comes into your mind?

• so happy to make 3 sales......
  by Karin Taylor

  A big thank you goes out to the lovely people (mystery buyers) who purchased the following items yesterday and today!! !http://images-...

  A big thank you goes out to the lovely people (mystery buyers) who purchased the following items yesterday and today!! / Greeting Card of Bridal Shower III / Mounted Print of Mary Banksia Fairy / Framed Print of Geisha Girl

• new approaches to presentation
  by IUNUUS

  hello everyone ! i’m rushed but getting there. due to the relatively huge influx of imagery and the backlog, i’m going through the…

  hello everyone ! i’m rushed but getting there. due to the relatively huge influx of imagery and the backlog, i’m going through the pages and selecting about ten images at a time to display. this will be a few times a week, so that everybody’s stuff isn’t pushed off the front page every other day. : ) starting very soon is the Featured Photographer Thing. “Wha’ ?” i hear you say ? be patient and you will see the Featured Photographer Thing before you know it. this will be to award people for large numbers of outstanding images (pan- and/or sub-generic of ) Australian Bush & Rainforest imagery. how many people here belong to Landcare Groups or a Friends of … (insert locality ) ? expect the unexpected when you least expect it ! : ) I U N U U S

• Featured In Aussie bush Paintings
  by ginnymac

  Aussie Bush Paintings“ / thanks to Robert Murrray...

  Aussie Bush Paintings“ / thanks to Robert Murrray“ / for such fabulous enthusiastic support / [I now have three pic there ]truly amazed]

• FEATURED IN Butterflies, Skippers. Moth,& other Winged Insects GROUP
  by helmutk

  Thanks to the Butterflies, Skippers ,Moth ,& other Winged Insects Group for featuring my image MAKE LOVE NOT WAR featuredhelmutk:...

  Thanks to the Butterflies, Skippers ,Moth ,& other Winged Insects Group for featuring my image MAKE LOVE NOT WAR featuredhelmutk / I am delighted and honored to have been featured in such a great Group / PLEASE GO AND CHECK IT OUT helmutk /

• Aussie Bush Paintings new Avatar, thanks Robert Murray
  by ginnymac

  Lucky !! Two happenings today. Thankyou to the Aussie Bush Painting Group Mod Robert Murray has informed me I have been seldected as …

  Lucky !! Two happenings today. Thankyou to the Aussie Bush Painting Group Mod Robert Murray has informed me I have been seldected as their new Avatar and also in the featured! Page.

• Bush to relax protected species rules
  by Crockpot

  “The Bush Administration plans to rollback protections for America’s imperiled wildlife by re-writing the regulations of the Endangered S…

  “The Bush Administration plans to rollback protections for America’s imperiled wildlife by re-writing the regulations of the Endangered Species Act. According to leaked documents obtained by the National Wildlife Federation, the proposed changes would weaken the safety net of habitat protections that have helped protect and recover endangered fish, wildlife and plants for the past 35 years.” Read full articles: AP IMPACT: Bush to relax protected species rules National Wildlife Federation: Bush Administration to Launch Sneak Attack on Endangered Species Act Take Action Now

• Is President Bush Evil?
  by Pilgrim

  I am not asking this question from a political perspective. I am interested in whether God could have led President Bush’s actions. P…

  I am not asking this question from a political perspective. I am interested in whether God could have led President Bush’s actions. President Bush says he prays about all major decisions. Thinking principally about Iraq and taking this on face value leads me to wonder; does he pray and ignore what he hears or is somebody other than God answering his prayers? Is there an alternative explanation? More broadly this leads me to ponder how can prayerful people be led by their prayers into immorality. Why do good people do bad deeds? It is a concerning question because it throws doubt on all of our prayers and what we hear in reply. I raised this question with Ian Gawler (about whom I have previously written). His answer was illuminating. He said that the foundation of guided spirituality was Faith, Practice and Wisdom. He said little more. But reflecting on this, I begin to see that spirituality based only on Faith and Practice is unquestioning and undoubting. It lacks therefore the basic humility that is required to truly grasp after the Devine. It is the pursuit of wisdom that both sows (bountiful) doubt and underpins humility. As we grow in wisdom we become ever more conscious of the complexity of life and the breadth of wonder it contains. In this consciousness we lose pride and that the smug self-satisfaction of the holy warriors. At times we may even lose Faith and Practice but even that may be part of the growing. So, to answer my question. I doubt George Bush is evil. I believe he is probably a man who seeks to do good. He values Faith and Practice, but he has not pursued Wisdom. And without this pursuit he is unguided. We cannot blame God for this.

• Featured in Aussie Bush Painting Group
  by ginnymac

  “Aussie Bush Paintin…

  Aussie Bush Painting Group“ thankyou , to the people who did the choosing. [actually there are two images of mine now.] / Robert Murray“

• Lace Goanna....Featured!!!
  by blossom

  Lace_Goanna has been featured in “Australian_Bush_and_…

  Lace_Goanna has been featured in Australian_Bush_and_Rainforest THANK YOU to the moderators of this wonderful group!!! I am honoured!!!

• wow, two of my paintings are on theAussie bush painting group
  by ginnymac

  http://www.redbubble.com/aussie-bush-painting / Kings Canyon Watercolour] and Grass Tree Cunninghams Gap [acrylic] / lots of other fabulou…

  http://www.redbubble.com/aussie-bush-painting / Kings Canyon Watercolour] and Grass Tree Cunninghams Gap [acrylic] / lots of other fabulous paintings there also. /

• Featured ....Outback Painting Group
  by ginnymac

  Aussie bush Painting Group...

  Aussie bush Painting Group thank you to Host Robert Murray“

• what's wrong with the USA
  by barakameek

  whats wrong with middle white USA? are they ALL fucked up?.... point one. i have heard a few times now that about 50% of them think th…

  whats wrong with middle white USA? are they ALL fucked up?.... point one. i have heard a few times now that about 50% of them think the world (Earth) is about only 6000 years old.! (get over it already, the bible is not true. Well lets not jump in all at once i should say its only about 99% wrong.) Point 2. why Bush??? 2 times!! (need i say more?) point 3. about 30 000 American’s people are killed every year by other American’s. thats like a civil war. and thats just death by gun shots. On top of that they have the highest death rate as execution in the world and most in prison too in the world. they even out do China.! (sats from a 2001 atlas) *I have hear of late that china does in deed execute more of their own people. point 4. Most of the worlds problems (war) is from the American government in part from them pulling stings in the back ground..see cold war, Vietnam war, Korea war, golf war parts one and two. *The CIA are international criminals. the list goes on an on. / So to sum it up FUCK the WHITE, god fearing, small minded man in power of America. Thats you too BUSH! and all of your little peons

• another feature in the Aussie Bush Paintings
  by ginnymac

  thanks for whoever is doing the features! Kimberley Boabs is Featured in the Aussie Bush Paintings Group so much appreciated! / Gini / ...

  thanks for whoever is doing the features! Kimberley Boabs is Featured in the Aussie Bush Paintings Group so much appreciated! / Gini

• Mushroom Hunting in Mpumalanga
  by Leoni Venter

  The title is perhaps a little too general. This post will be about mushroom (or fungus) hunting on a +- 10 hectare piece of land on top o…

  The title is perhaps a little too general. This post will be about mushroom (or fungus) hunting on a +- 10 hectare piece of land on top of a mountain in the Krokodilpoort range in Mpumalanga – namely, my home. The following photos were all taken on and just around this piece of land (I tresspass a bit on the various neighbours’ properties – so far I’ve not been shot!) all within the last month or so. Although I did take a course on fungal taxonomy in 1996, and I do have a small field-guide about South African mushrooms, I’m probably not qualified to identify any of these. If I do give it a try, it’ll probably be wrong. So don’t believe anything I say that sounds scientific! You can click each thumbnail to get a larger view (520×390px). I’d recommend to right-click and open in a new window or tab, though. But that’s just my surfing habit :-) The first two photos just give an example of the main area where I found most of the fungi. It’s an almost rainforest-like little valley perhaps 100m from my house. Very mossy and wet, it’s particularly beautiful right now. 1 2 Not all my fungi come from this valley. I’ve also found a lot in more bushveld-like areas, mostly under trees in shady cool places, of course. In no particular order, with comments or not, here they are. 3 4 / This one was taken in a stand of Saligna (gum trees from Oz!). I’m not good at taking photos of “rakswamme”, um, shelf fungi, or bracket fungi, I think, might be more accurate. But this one came alright. 5 / Also from the Saligna stand. 6 / This one was on a dead stump of indigenous wood. Looks like a little triceratops to me :-) 7 / I think this was the same stump of wood mentioned at #6. It might be Schizophyllum commune although my book says they’re grey or white and these ones were a delicate pink. 8 9 / This is the underside, top side is brown if I can recall. And it’s not in my book. 10 / I’m fairly certain this is Agaricus trisulphuratus. 11 / They’re tiny and all over the place, but I can’t say what they are exactly. This one has a raindrop on top. 12 / Another anonymous little mushroom. My book obviously only covers the large mushrooms. 13 / It’s like fine white translucent coral, quite beautiful to see. And nameless in my book :-) 14 / Myriostoma coliforme, the Saltshaker Earth-star – I think. 15 / It’s purplish and hairy and also not in my book. 16 / Fluffy, ’nuff said. 17 / This one grew right under an overhanging rock. The green you see is moss. 18 / I have no idea. Love the little pool though. 19 / I would guess it is Coprinus plicatilis, the “Japanese Umbrella” or pleated ink cap. But my book implies they don’t really appear around here so perhaps it is a cousin. 20 / Don’t know them but see them often. 21 / This must be a very young sprig of Clavulina cristata “Crested Coral Fungus”. It grew in that stand of Saligna. 22 / And here we have Calocera cornea. Small. Very small. 23 / Awww, all I can say. 24 / Another nameless hairy shelf-like fungus. The authors of this book really should have come to our place for greater variety! Funny thing is, the one author was my botany professor! Ten years ago. 25 / Well they’re puffballs, but they’re not in the book. 26 / These, I don’t know. The most beautiful pink-orange colour. 27 / Favolaschia thwaitesii, possibly. 28 / Ah, the common puffball. Or it it? Vascellum pratense. But the picture in the book shows a much rougher surface. 29 / No, THIS matches the picture in the book. The common puffball. Sorry #28, you don’t have a name. 30 / Actually I think this might be a lichen :-) 31 / A stink horn, I can say that much with certainty. But the one in the book is not nearly as pretty and looks quite different. 32 / Sweet little red thingies. Very small. Not in book. (Edit: May be Elf Caps) 33 / Here’s my other “aaaawww” moment. 34 / I think this one is related to #26. 35 / Love the texture! 36 / Extremely small, fluffy and pink. 37 / It was so dark in that bush that I actually took along a torch to see if I could help my camera (no flash in macro mode!) After this shot I gave up, but I like the glow effect. 38 / A contrived photo. I put the stick it was growing on, on top of another tree stump. So this is the one photo where I was not lying on my belly or crouching awkwardly with my head to the camera and the camera right on the ground. 39 / Cutie. 40 / The ghost in the darkness. 41 / The Brain Jelly Fungus, Tremella mesenterica. Well, that’s it for now. I guess I’d better identify the book, just in case. It’s called “Mushrooms of Southern Africa” by C.G.A. van der Westhuizen and Albert Eicker, published in 1994. ISBN 1 86825 507 7. Professor Eicker was my Botany prof in 1994, and his department helped me a lot when I took the fungal taxonomy course presented by the Microbiology Department in 1996. Terrible how I’ve forgotten everything I’ve learned!

• Featured again in Stillness Speaks
  by Claire Farley

  Oh wow! Can’t believe it…..featured again in Stillness Speaks with Colours of the Bush...

  Oh wow! Can’t believe it…..featured again in Stillness Speaks with Colours of the Bush / Many thanks to the guys/girls of this group who made this possible.I’m over the moon!

• Sold work
  by Claire Farley

  A big warm thank you to Trudi for purchasing my Colours of the Bush-...

  A big warm thank you to Trudi for purchasing my Colours of the Bush I wish your sister many happy returns for her birthday

• On The Weekend, I
  by Alice Robinson

  We go up the country every weekend to shoot rabbits. My father shows me how to use his rifle. I never seem to be able to do it right so…

  We go up the country every weekend to shoot rabbits. My father shows me how to use his rifle. I never seem to be able to do it right so my father does most of the killing; one day, he says, he’ll leave the rifle to me. / The land we shoot on has belonged to our family for a long time. It is close to Melbourne; we don’t have to stop for lunch on the way, but it might as well be on the moon. My father is a very slow driver. I think it is beautiful country, but at night, I cannot shut my eyes easily. In the country it gets so dark that things don’t even need a place to hide. They can just stand still in the night, waiting. When we drive back to the city on Sunday nights, my father stays quiet in the car. He is quiet almost all of the time, but in the car it is the worst. On the way home he doesn’t speak because there is nothing at all in his head. I have seen people be like this before, at a funeral. The city and my father disagree on most topics. In side streets he often slows to a crawl, just to shake his head at the houses some people call homes. My father says when he is old he will walk in to this bush, lie down and die. That’s what animals do when they’re sick, he reckons. I don’t like to think of my father dying, in the bush or anywhere, but I suppose I’ll be the one who has to walk around and look for him if he goes missing when he’s old. My father’s wife won’t do it. When she goes for walks, she sticks to the roads. / We don’t always get anything. There are less rabbits than there used to be, is what my father says. A mix of my toeses killed a lot of them, which must be something like what my father puts in his shoes to stop his feet from smelling. But it’s a good thing, about there being less rabbits. Rabbits are pests who came here without asking. Like some other buggers I could mention, is what my father says, quietly, like he wants the rabbits to hear him. On our land there is just a caravan and a tank and lots of bush. We won’t build here. My father says that we don’t want to interrupt nature too much. When we walk around the hills of our land, he shows me different plants. Last weekend we came up the country and found a type of native orchid that only blooms once every seven years. Problem was, my father only noticed it because I didn’t; I stepped on it, squashed it flat. My new gumboots are as shiny as the fresh eggplants we buy from the Vic market, but not shiny enough to be mirrors of the ground I walk on. I didn’t see the orchid in time. After that my father stopped talking to me. When he shot and killed a big, brown rabbit, he left it for me to find and carry home. Blood from the hole in the rabbit’s neck kept dripping down my leg. I said, “Dad, my gumboots are getting all bloody,” but he didn’t turn around. My father is a very fast walker; he has strong legs. I have strong legs too because we are related and have the same jeans. I practiced concentrating on where I was walking in case I saw another orchid. I had to look at the ground a lot, which is why I didn’t see Mr Shears. My father stopped quickly and I bumped in to him. The head of the brown rabbit banged against my calf. Flies kept landing on its eyes, which were open. I tried to swat them away but there are always too many flies in the bush. My father put his arm around my shoulders and looked at Mr Shears. I liked my father touching me; I thought maybe this meant he had forgotten what I did to the orchid. Mr Shears was wearing an old, muddy dry-as-a-bone, same as my father’s. From a distance, you could think that they looked pretty much the same. But up close you can see that Mr Shears has a really red face and lots of wrinkles. My father’s skin is not that wrinkly; he says it’s because he has a cushy job and is only a part time country boy. I think it’s because Mr Shears is just really old and looks like somebody’s grandpa. / “What do you think you’re doing?” My father spoke, making each word sound long and difficult, like he was just learning how to speak. Mr Shears looked up quickly. I don’t think he knew we were there. / “Butler,” Mr Shears said. He smiled, but there was something wrong with his mouth, his lips didn’t do what they were supposed to. / “This is my land Shears,” my father said. “What the fuck are you doing with that,” my father pointed behind Mr Shears and I saw an orange chainsaw in the grass, “on my land?” My father hates it when people use bad language because only lazy people use swearwords. Which is why I knew that he was upset; I’d never heard him use the F-word before. Next to Mr Shears was a pile of wood, freshly cut. My Dad reckons that too many people cut down trees because they don’t realise what a long-term investment they are. That’s the problem with our consumable culture, he says, people don’t know where things come from or how long they take to grow. / Mr Shears took off his gardening gloves and walked towards us. “These dead trees are a fire hazard, Butler,” he said. “All this dead brush’ll go up like a rocket if a bushfire comes through here. Some of us have houses to protect. This is no holiday spot for us, it’s our life.” Mr Shears lives on the property next to our land. He has a lot of sheep and a lot more land for them to live on. Its’ a crying shame what he’s done to the place, is what my father says. Mr Shears’ land doesn’t make me feel like crying but his sheep do look very hot a lot of the time; there aren’t many trees over there. I know that trees breathe in carbon dioxide and breathe out oxygen, which is the opposite of what humans breathe in and out. My father says this is why trees and humans should be equal in the world and why balance is the key. My father knows a lot about trees, which is probably why he doesn’t like Mr Shears much. / My father took his arm off from around my shoulders and walked over to Mr Shears’ pile of wood. I didn’t know if I was supposed to go with him so I stayed where I was. / “This is green wood,” my father said. He looked like he might cry, but I knew he wouldn’t; people stop crying when they get old. Bending down, my father touched the stump of the tree Mr Shears had cut down. “I planted this tree twenty-five years ago.” My father’s face looked really red. He looked at Mr Shears; I was scared. My father just kept looking at Mr Shears for ages, not saying anything. Mr Shears started to pick up some of the wood from his pile but my father said, “Get the fuck off my property,” and Mr Shears dropped the wood again. / “You think you belong to this land,” Mr Shears said picking up his chainsaw, “but you don’t. You think you’re doing something good by planting these trees, but the environment’s fucked and we’re just trying to make a living here. You’re a city boy, Butler; you haven’t got a clue what it takes to live out here. Not a fucking clue.” / “I catch you on my property again,” said my father, “you’re dead. I don’t care what you do on your side of the fence but keep the fuck off mine.” I didn’t look any more after that. I kept my eyes on the dead rabbit in my hand, and listened to the sound of Mr Shears climbing back under the electric fence, and in to his paddock. / “I see you again, you’re dead.” My father called across the fence. When I looked up Mr Shears was walking away, quickly. And my father was holding his rifle in the air. We walked back to our caravan after that. It’s a long walk and our place is pretty hilly. I didn’t mind walking fast because I know that these days you’ve got to be tough to survive since things aren’t like what they used to be. I’m not allowed to get a dog because they kill birds, but my dad says that when I’m grown up I can choose to get a dog of my own if I want to, he trusts that I’ll do the right thing. That’s why I want to be tough and survive. I want to call my dog Harry. / My father kept talking while we walked, but he wasn’t talking to me. I know that because when I said, “what did you say, Dad?” / He said, “nothing,” but kept talking. He was walking in front of me so it was hard to hear him. A few times I heard him say something like, “going to get him,” or “that bastard,” which I know are mean things that my father shouldn’t have said. But he was only talking to himself, so I suppose it doesn’t really matter since he didn’t seem to mind. / I love our caravan. It has a wood heater that my father fitted; in winter it is very warm. My father sleeps in a double bed at one end; I sleep at the other end in a bed that folds down from the wall. At night when my father is asleep it is like we are inside a safe, warm boat. I like to imagine that we will float all night and wake up somewhere beautiful where my father won’t have to work any more. We could live on the beach there, with Harry, who wouldn’t kill any birds, ever. / When we got back to our site I went up the front steps of the caravan and waited for my father to unlock the door. But he didn’t follow; he walked away, down the drive towards the Ute. / “Skin him and gut him,” my father said, turning, waving his hand towards the rabbit I was still holding, cradling him like a baby now; he was too heavy to hold like by the legs all the way back. “I’ll be back soon.” “Where are you going, Dad?” I said, but he didn’t answer. He just unlocked the door of the Ute, got in and reversed down our drive. The rabbit was stiff in my arms. It was starting to get dark. / / I didn’t like to see the rabbit without its skin on, but I wanted to do a good job because I know that a job worth doing is a job done well and skinning the rabbit was a job worth doing because my father told me to do it. I took the naked rabbit inside and laid it on the bench. I washed my hands and face, using soap on my hands and scrubbing my nails with the little brush my father keeps next to the sink. I took the bowl in the sink out from under the tap and poured the pink water collected in it on to the plants around the caravan; my father says that wasting water will be what gets us in the end if people don’t make some changes. He reckons this’ll all be desert one day because people want so much for their cars to look shiny. By then it was pretty dark. I made a fire in the stove and lit it; its always my job to light the fire in the caravan, I’m a real expert at it, now. I sat down at the table in front of the fire and watched the wood burn. I hoped my father wouldn’t be too long. Outside, the birds stopped singing and the cicadas started. I got up and locked the caravan door and closed the curtains; nothing can get you if it can’t look in to see you’re there. I was really hungry then, but I don’t know how to cook and we don’t have chips and things because food should be eaten the way it was meant to, not turned in to something else with chemicals, is what my father says. I tried to sit still, quiet. I listened to the noises outside in the dark to make sure there wasn’t anything out there, but I didn’t want to listen too closely in case there was. It had been ages and my father still wasn’t back so I thought, “what if he’s had an accident on the road and cant get home?” I thought, “who will find me here?” I didn’t want to, but I got scared. I imagined having to live on my own out here in the bush with no one to visit me. I started to cry. A branch outside was tapping on the roof of the caravan. I thought, “what if its’ not a branch but something else making that noise?” I tried to stop crying because I didn’t want anything to hear me. I couldn’t look out; I didn’t want to see my face reflected in the dark glass of the window. I started to get up. I wanted to get in to my Dad’s bed and lie under the blankets, but I was worried about making too much noise. Then I heard a gunshot. It sounded loud, and close, and I ran for the bed and hid, quickly, leaving my boots on. / / When I heard the Ute pull in I peeled the blanket down but didn’t get out of bed. I could hear my father opening and closing the door of the Ute and walking around outside. I waited a while but he didn’t come in to see me, so sat up and tried to brush the mud off the sheets, knowing my father would be angry if he knew that I had made them dirty. At the front door I pulled back the lock. I knew it was my father because I recognised the sound of his Ute, I know what it sounds like, I would recognise it anywhere. But I was worried about the gunshot I heard. Outside there was only blackness and shadows; if there was a moon, it was hiding too. “Dad?” I called, opening the door a crack. “Dad? Where have you been?” My voice sounded a bit wavy. I tried to make it sound different but my throat was tight as a lacker-band. / “Stay inside, Isla.” My father said. “Don’t come out here.” I didn’t ask him why I should stay inside because my father says that most things are on a need to know basis and that he will tell me when I need to know. / “I heard a gun, Dad.” I saw my father loading the back of the Ute. He had the big torch in his hand. The tray was already pretty full. I could see something long and lumpy was covered by a tarp. My father put a large shovel in the back and turned to me. / “I’ve got something I have to do. Stay inside. Go to bed.” / “Dad,” I shouted to him because I didn’t like being in the caravan on my own in the dark. “It’s scary Dad. Dad, can’t I come with you?” But my father was already opening the door of the Ute and getting back in. / “Inside, Isla,” he said. “This doesn’t concern you. I’ll be back as soon as I can be.” I saw the barrel of the rifle shining in the back of the Ute next to the shovel, I looked at the lump under the tarp: I knew my father had killed Mr Shears. I shut the door of the caravan and locked it behind me. I didn’t know what to do next. Inside the caravan I started really crying, like the way I cried when it happened to my mum. We don’t have a television because of how people who spend all their time watching television have no imagination or inclination, but I’ve been to the movies before and I know that when somebody kills someone else they go to jail. I didn’t want my father to go to jail because I didn’t want to be an orphan, which in most books is the worst and saddest thing that can happen to a kid; most orphans don’t have enough to eat. I know that my father is a good person because he cares about what happens to this planet unlike those liberal voters who only care about the economy. And I know that Mr Shears was not a nice man, he shouldn’t have been on our land cutting down our trees. I didn’t want my father to have killed Mr Shears though, because then that would make him a not nice person and I wanted my father to be nice. The fire was starting to go out but I didn’t get any more wood to keep it going because I didn’t want to have to go outside. I thought of the body under the tarp in the back of the Ute and felt really scared; I wondered what my father was going to do with it out there in the bush. Back in to my father’s bed, I put his pillow over my head and shut my eyes. I didn’t want to think about my father out there alone with a dead body. On the kitchen bench, the skinned rabbit lay with its eyes open. I couldn’t look at it, in case it looked back. I didn’t want to, but I fell asleep. I know that I fell asleep because I got woken up by something banging on the side of the caravan. I opened my eyes but I didn’t move. I didn’t want to, but I wet the bed; there was something shouting outside and banging on my door. Whatever it was, it was roaring like the lion I saw at the zoo. We have a sharp knife for gutting but I left it outside; I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know what to do. It was stomping around and shouting and banging on my door. The door was locked but there was no one else around, I thought it might get in and eat me or kill me. I didn’t want to but I knew I had to look through the window. I got up on the bed and pulled back the curtain, just a bit. The sun had only just come up, I was glad so glad to see the light. Outside, the bush was silver; night had not yet gone away altogether. I saw a strange truck parked in our driveway. I thought maybe they had come to take my father away. I didn’t know what to do. My father told me never to open our door to strangers because strangers don’t always have my best interest at heart. Two kangaroos pounded up the hill away from the caravan. You can learn a lot about what’s going on in the bush from observing what animals do, my father says. I knew the kangaroos were scared as well. I wished I were running with them. / “Open the door, Butler, you bastard.” I heard someone say. There was a noise that sounded like someone kicking something. “I know you’re in there. Get out here, you prick.” I knew they had come to take my father away. I was glad he was already gone. I didn’t want to but I thought I should open the door and tell them it was just me, I wished I had the rifle and was a better shot. There was a long iron poker for the stove leaning against the wall, I got out of bed and picked it up. The door opened quickly under my finders. In my hand, the poker felt as heavy as a log. I could smell my wee in the room. / “It’s just me,” I shouted in my wavy voice. “My Dad isn’t here. Go away, it’s just me.” I held up the poker and looked outside. Mr Shears was standing on the steps, looking really angry. I screamed. I know that ghosts exist but I had never seen one before. I tried to shut the door but he blocked it with his boot. / “Hey,” he said. “Stop that shouting. Where’s your Dad?” He tried to take the poker from me but I held on to my end; I couldn’t look at him because I didn’t want to see a dead person. I saw his hand and the skin on it was hard and rough looking. I knew he was going to kill me. / “Go away,” I said, and I was crying. “Don’t kill me. He didn’t mean to kill you, I know he didn’t because he says that people killing people is a waste of world resources and that most of it is based on politics anyway.” Mr Shears reached in and grabbed me by the shoulder. His hand was warm, which surprised me. / “What are you on about? I don’t want to kill you, Christ.” Mr Shears said. “Your old man’s been up to no good on my land and I want to talk to him about it, that’s all. You tell him when he gets back that I’m looking for him.” He let go of my shoulder. I dropped the poker and gave myself a hug, wrapping my arms around myself to keep warm. Walking back to his Ute, Mr Shears called, “tell your Dad to come and see me when he gets back. I’ve had it with him,” I nodded. I knew that my nose was snotty because I could taste it. Nearing his Ute, which was newer than ours and red, Mr Shears turned and said, “Shot her last night, on the road.” He pointed to a dead roo, lying stiff in his tray. “Hit her driving home from the pub last night, didn’t see her, poor thing. Thought I should put her out of her misery. Keep the skin and sell it to them in the city, make a bit of money that way, every bit helps.” He laughed. There were flies on the dead animal already. I thought I could smell it from where I was standing. Mr Shears got in his Ute, turned and drove off. I kept standing there, watching him drive away. The roo in the tray bounced a little in the back. The birds were only just starting to wake up. Inside I changed my jeans and took the sheets off my father’s bed. I ate an apple but it made me feel sick. There was nothing to do so I sat on the step and waited. It was cold, but sunny. I saw five yellow crested cockatoos and a galah. It was time for us to go back to the city. / When I heard my father’s Ute I stood up and waited. He came down the drive fast, bouncing over potholes. I ran over to where he was parking and felt like crying. My father got out of the Ute and came around to where I was standing. He knelt down in front of me and gave me a hug, I sat on his knee which was bent to make a seat. / “Didn’t think you’d be up yet,” he said. “What’s the matter? I told you I would be back.” I didn’t want to, but I told him that Mr Shears was looking for him. I put my arms around my father’s neck and my face in the place where his neck and shoulders meet. He smelt like sweat and his hands were dirty. My father seemed very tired. / “We’ve got to go,” my father said. And he helped me in to the Ute. While I waited in the truck, my father collected the dirty sheets and our bags of clothes. He put the skinned rabbit in a plastic bag and locked the caravan door. / “Where did you go?” I asked, but my father just smiled. I didn’t ask him again because I was worried he would leave and I didn’t want to be on my own anymore. The tray at the back was empty except for the shovel, which was covered in mud. Our big torch was there with the tarp, folded and rolled in a corner. We drove away from our land and my father was quiet. As we crested the ridge of the gully that separates our place from Mr Shears’, I saw his farm laid out in front like a board game. His paddocks, usually bare and yellow and dotted with sheep, had changed. Row after row of tiny trees had been planted, each with a plastic guard around it to keep the roos off. I looked at my father; he kept his eyes on the road. Our rifle, unloaded, was stored in its place behind my seat. It’s important to know how to care for a gun before you try and shoot one, my faather reckons. He knows a lot about most things, and so do I. /

• Zeigeist-The Movie...Spread Love not Fear!!!
  by midnightdreamer

  Spread Love and Knowledge…wake up from the “American Dream’ and remember you are beautiful! / In Peace and Love Always…. The Link~ ...

  Spread Love and Knowledge…wake up from the “American Dream’ and remember you are beautiful! / In Peace and Love Always…. The Link http://zeitgeistmovie.com/ The Info Zeitgeist, produced by Peter Joseph, was created as a nonprofit expression to / inspire people to start looking at the world from a more critical perspective and to understand that / very often things are not what the population at large think they are. The information in Zeitgeist / was established over a year long period of research and the current Source page on / this site lists the basic sources used / referenced and the developing Interactive Transcript includes / exact source references and further information. A Q & A page is also being developed. Now, it’s important to point out that there is a tendency to simply disbelieve things that are / counter to our understanding, without the necessary research performed. / For example, some information contained in Part 1 and Part 3, specifically, is not obtained / by simple keyword searches on the Internet. You have to dig deeper. For instance, / very often people who look up “Horus” or “The Federal Reserve” on the Internet / draw their conclusions from very general or biased sources. Online encyclopedias or text book / Encyclopedias often do not contain the information contained in Zeitgeist. However, if one takes / the time to read the sources provided, they will find that what is being presented is / based on documented evidence. Non-Profit DVDs / Free Video Downloads are / available through the Downloads page. Furthermore, in October 2008 the sequel to Zeitgeist will be presented for free online. / This feature length work will address the solutions to the problems presented in / the original work. This work is entitled: “Zeitgeist – Addendum” That being said, It is my hope that people will not take what is said / in the film as the truth, but find out for themselves, for truth is not told, it is realized. Thank You Let the Light of Love Guide your Spirit….

• Back to the bush .....
  by Carisma

  But carring in my suitcase the warm though of being given another “Feature”! !http://images-0.redbubble.net/img/art/cropped/size:smal…

  But carring in my suitcase the warm though of being given another “Feature”! African Sunset was featured in the “Wild Nature Photography & Writing Group” !!! It has been just nine months since I joined RB and all has progressed beyond my wildest expectations…...all through the interest, encouragement and constructive (but kind) criticism of all you my friends here. / A big thank to you all and to the moderators!!!

• Bush and Rainforest Group Competition- Wildlife Capture
  by silveraya

  The next challenge is Wildlife Capture-submit your best images (up to 2 per person) of a wildlife capture in the bush or rainforest. ...

  The next challenge is Wildlife Capture-submit your best images (up to 2 per person) of a wildlife capture in the bush or rainforest. But keep in mind: / tag your image with abr2 / no more than two per person / all works must comply with group guidelines and be submitted to the group / the capture must be in the bush or rainforest setting, and the animal/bird/insect must be shown in this context. If it is a closeup we want to see more than an eye! The image should be representative of the group Entries close Wednesday the 14th of May / The winner will be the next avatar, showcase, and be on the group homepage for three weeks. / Good luck to all / If you have any questions about this, need help with tagging or unsure if your image is suitable feel free to bubblemail me View current entries here /

• Bush and Rainforest Group Competition- Waterfall Photography
  by silveraya

  I am opening the next challenge for the Australian Bush and Rainforest Photography Group...

  I am opening the next challenge for the Australian Bush and Rainforest Photography Group. We are looking for your best waterfall photo. / / Guidelines: Work must be added to the group. / You can enter something already added to the group / YOU MUST TAG YOUR IMAGE WITH ABR4 / One entry per person allowed / Submissions close on the 5th of July, at 9am / The photo must feature a waterfall The winning image of the challenge will be the groups next avatar, and the winner showcased in the group and featured on the group homepage. Good luck all :)

• Back from the Bush
  by Cathie Tranent

  Well, Here I sit – back in my little cubicle, lunchtime at the day job. The last week an already fading memory of dust, blazing su…

  Well, Here I sit – back in my little cubicle, lunchtime at the day job. The last week an already fading memory of dust, blazing sunshine, country hospitality and a week’s worth of not cooking tea!! I’ve got about 1000 images (all .crw ..) to check over, post process and select a few to upload here!!

• New Group!
  by silveraya

  I now have a group up and running-for Australian Bush and Rainforest photography. Will have to work out how to do links…. “Australia…

  I now have a group up and running-for Australian Bush and Rainforest photography. Will have to work out how to do links…. Australian Bush and Rainforest Photography