Mt Macedon is a small township part way up a mountain by the same name. It is glorious in Autumn. This year the autumn foliage is still on the trees, and the perennials are still in bloom in early winter, so I'm celebrating the glory of the gardens of Mount Macedon before the winter weather blankets them in frost and snow.
I was privileged to attend one of Pat Moran’s flower painting seminars. That seminar inspired me to spend half the grocery money that week on delphiniums. The wisteria I added to the arrangement were from my own garden. I’ve always found that the best time to use any inspiration gained from a lesson is straight away while fired up with enthusiasm.
Mid spring blooms, delphiniums, wisteria and Marguerites. Oil painting by author and artist Ryn Shell. Click image to view the prints, decor, apparel, giftware and cards featuring this artwork.
Turitable Creek, cascades down a rocky ledge into a dense bush gully.
There is a lookout platform at the top of the waterfall, the best views are from the gully below. It's not a tall mountain but it is most impressive rising out of the plains below.
The elevation makes the air cooler than the surrounding plains and produces the most wonderful autumn colourings in the foliage. It is a garden lover's paradise.
My painting of salmon roses , in the blog -I loved working on this.
#rose #roses #flowers #art
This blog writer is author and artist Ryn Shell, creator of stories of crime, mystery, suspense, coming-of-age, love and Australia.
Ryn Shell's Australian rural-lit writing is enhanced by personal experience of nature and days spent with family in the Australian bushland. Here is one of the chapters from the novel, To Kill for a Dream.
Iain carried the jug of warm water and a washbowl into Emily’s room and placed it on the white dressing table. “Let’s go get your mum and Harry.” He gently rocked Emily awake. “We’ll have breakfast at the Crown Hotel.”
She stretched her arms and swung her legs out of bed. “Will I get to meet the sheep man, Dave, again? She fingered the grubby fabric of the blue knickerbockers she was wearing. “My clean clothes are in Mummy’s car.” She pulled a scowling face and grabbed hold of the cuffs of the soiled clothes she’d worn the day before. “What can I wear?”
“Freshen yourself up.” Iain took a washcloth and towel from the dresser drawer and gave it to her, paying no attention to her concern about clothes. He gently combed through her curls with his brown fingers. “We’re leaving as soon as you’re ready.”
He went back to the warm kitchen, where Jarrah waited ready to leave. “Lesley’s priorities irritate me. Her kids have been brought up to be clothes models, not children.”
Jarrah nodded his head. “Emily was worried about getting dirt on her shoes. I mean, what are shoes for?” He’d worn the same clothes for weeks and was used to washing them on a sunny day and then rushing around to stay warm while they dried.
“If I can ask for any influence over my sister’s kids, I’d teach them to enjoy getting dirty.”
“Sounds good to me.” Hearing Emily run through the passage, Jarrah walked to the front door and held it open.
“Jarrah, come with us in case Lesley wants some of her things unloaded at the hotel? I am going to need help to move the heavier pieces.” Iain reached for his keys on the hook beside the door. “Let’s go.”
The sun illuminated a dove grey haze, and a glimpse of rippled silver gleamed through the trees that lined the roadside. The billabong sparkled at the base of the hills in the east. A breeze gently rumpled the water; it blew through the black wattle, carrying the scent of wattle to Emily’s quivering nose. She inhaled deeply and closed her eyes. “Ahh.”
Emily marched in place as she shivered with Jarrah on the front porch while Iain brought the ute close to the home yard gate.
Snowy nuzzled up to her to be petted, and Emily plopped down on the step to hug the little wiry-coated, white dog. She took in the enchanted vision. A fiery half-ball appeared over the top of the Fife Ridge Mountain Range as the sun rose. Here with Snowy to keep her company and distract her, she’d soon forget to search for the fairies in those morning light rays.
She squinted into the rising mist, searching for the magic that was for her eyes only. Lost within her fairy daydream world, she felt her uncle lift her, carry her towards the ute and put her in the centre of the bench seat. With more interesting things in the country than at the Sydney town house, she struggled hard to hold on to the fantasy world of imagined fairy friends. She tried to cling to the daydream, even when Jarrah climbed in beside her. Then she felt a jolt as her uncle jumped into the driver’s seat.
Then the ute bounced down the station drive to the main gates. Emily looked past Jarrah to the fairies in the mist. They acted as if they realised she didn’t need them, and they turned away and vanished in the yellow dust that billowed up behind the back of the ute. She caught a last glimpse of her fairy friends as they waved goodbye.
In the next moment, she saw kangaroos grazing along the side of the drive, and she forgot about fairies.
The ute jolted to a stop. Jarrah opened and shut the wire gate then got back in. Emily enjoyed the scenery of the mountain range emerging out of shadow as the morning sunlight rose higher above the ridge. An unbroken expanse of Fife Downs Cattle Station paddocks spread out to the western horizon.
Iain pointed to a sprawling mass of strange, curved top buildings tucked into a clearing, with the mountain behind it, near the town. “That’s the migrant hostel.”
“They’re like halves of massive metal water tanks sitting sideways on the ground with the curved walls as the roof.” Jarrah scowled. “They built an eyesore in front of the most stunning scenery on earth.”
“It’s a quick and easy design to put up fast,” Iain explained.
“If you’re a politician, why don’t you make them build something pretty?” Emily asked. “I don’t like looking at that ugly place.”
“Retailers have a grin on their faces these days,” Iain said.
“Why would anyone like the place?” Jarrah spat the words out.
“Those buildings, you think are eyesores, house the new immigrants.” Iain slowed down to view the construction site. “Migrants and the construction workers who came to set up the industrial estate are bringing renewed life and prosperity back to the town.”
Emily and Jarrah scowled at the sprawling buildings set in what had been a scenic gorge.
“People from the hostel spend money in the town.” Iain still wanted to impress the children that his work as a politician hadn’t ruined the town. “Many of these migrants will settle here.”
“Couldn’t they be happy living without all those things and just keep the place natural?” Jarrah’s curled his lips down. “This is horrid. Uh! Ugly buildings everywhere.”
Iain shook his head. “When all the air force personnel left the town, there wasn’t a large enough population left to maintain services. If we didn’t welcome these new migrants, set up temporary buildings to house them, there wasn’t going to be any town left. People remaining in the district didn’t want to drive hundreds of miles for supplies.”
“I’d hate to live in an ugly box.” Emily craned her neck to gaze through the window, and she wiggled her nose.
Iain pointed to the converted shipping containers now used as workers’ huts. “They’re called dongers.” He pulled in beside Lesley’s car in the car park, and Iain led the children to a dimly lit dining room. They were the only ones in there. Iain left the two children at the table and went to the bar to order their meal.
“Why didn’t we go in the bar with everyone else?” Emily asked.
“Ladies and children are not allowed in the bar room in Australian hotels.”
“Why not?” Emily asked.
“Because, it isn’t a fitting place for a lady to be.” He rubbed his chin.
“Because, men like to be able to curse if they want to.” He took a mouthful of his breakfast.
“Then why can’t women curse when they want to?”
He swallowed. “Well, if they cursed, they wouldn’t be ladies, now would they?”
“Do you curse, Uncle?”
“Yes, if I want to, with other men. Not when ladies and children are around.” Iain tried hard not to smile and took another bite of his breakfast.
“Well then, if a man can curse with a man, a lady should be allowed to curse with a lady, and a child can curse with another child, and that means they should all be able to curse together as they are all cursing when they want to anyhow, and besides, I have heard them do it,” stated Emily.
“I think you had best continue that conversation with your mother.”
Ruth Randall's novel "A Judgement in Stone," opens with this line.
"Eunice Parchman killed the Coverdale family because she could not read or write."
In open mystery novel, the reader knows who the murderer is, from the beginning; the mystery is why, and how, they did it, and if they will be caught.
In The Stolen Years series of novels, the reader has a view of who commits many of the crimes. There is plenty of suspense while no one else suspects who the murderer is.
The Stolen Years Series
From an Australian bestselling author comes mystery thriller of determination to find one's place in a world that men are threatening to tear apart.
Psychological thrillers often deal with characters who have post traumatic stress disorder often caused by a mysterious suspenseful situation as happens within The Stolen Years Series of novels by Ryn Shell.
Noir or hardboiled, often detective fiction is a genre of crime novels featuring detectives or private detectives who see the dark, edgy side of life. As in The Stoles Years, Ryn Shell is writing of a dark side of Australian history these novels fit the rural noir sub-genre. These novels by Ryn Shell are lightened, to make the reading enjoyable, by the family saga story of resilience and love.
Historical mystery genres are often crossed with other genres. Ryn Shell has always combined two or more genres or sub-genre in the telling of the complex stories in her books. Her characters come to life in her head while she writes them and demand more.
Art studio assistant cats, Valentine and Tabby share the amazing Litter-Robot III Open Air. Get a bonus by purchasing via our link.
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