Fortuitous Tide

I was asked the other day, “Why do I write?”

After very little thought I answered, “I’m barking mad when I’m not totally chronic crazy and a masochist, I think.” But what else can one do when scenes, plots and characters pound on the door of one’s mind until it’s battered in. The intruders swirl about in one’s head demanding to be heard.

Current Weather and Tides

Currently sitting on the verandah with not a keyboard, computer screen, pen, paper or pencil in sight. Whoopee me!

A few days ago, I wrote ‘The End’ under the first draft of novel four. The manuscript is now put aside for a few weeks before the real work begins – editing and more editing and then another edit or two. BUT the basic story is on paper – a giant leap – to coin the astronaut’s phrase.

Keep safe, Keep smiling, Keep reading, Keep writing.

Elizabeth Rimmington

A Pearl for your Enjoyment


He thought he was hidden behind the angle of the tin roof above the feeder-tray – silly black crow – noisy black crow. After how many years of evolution and he has not learnt to shut his mouth. Those raucous unmusical notes reveal his position better than a GPS signal.

The blue-eyed honeyeaters, never short on audacity, flock down from the tree branches to gather along the arms of the frame supporting the feeding tray where it hangs from the tree casting its shade over the kitchen window. Their voices are little improvement on that of the crow as they warn the black-feathered intruder his presence was unwelcome at the dining area – black suit or no black suit. The honeyeaters send him off. The shiny dark wings crashed through the leafy canopy. He flew off to sulk in the tall dead tree behind the shed where he squawked out his loud protests to anyone who would listen.

It was the presence of the six colourful lorikeets drinking from the tray of honey-water and bread which added arrogance to this royal feast. Manners are not essential requirements at the morning gathering. If the blue-eyes thought they might be invited to join the feast they were sadly mistaken. The back door is their only option. They hang upside-down under the feed-tray lifting their heads with irregular rhythm and order above the edge of the tray to snatch a sip of fluid or a lump of bread. The squabbling lorikeets only pause for brief moments between their bickering to dance over to the intruding heads of the blue-eyes and issue warnings. But the blue-eyes have each snavelled a morsel. They flutter a hasty retreat across to the tree branches where they suck the juices from the bread crumbs. Their gaze never leaves the tray of treats. When one looks deep into their eyes one can almost see and hear the planning going on inside the little heads preparing for the next foray to the feed-tray.

Sitting along the larger tree branch are the three butcher-birds perched like a panel of judges. Occasional perfect pitched calls deliver their judgements – not that the lorikeets take a scrap of notice.

With their appetites appeased the lorikeets dribble away to continue their arguments along the branches of the tree. The tray becomes instantly alive with the bobbing blue-eyed honey-eaters. Like the lorikeets, they display poor table manners by squawking and eating at the same time.

And who are these new arrivals? Two grey pigeons from the lillypilly tree next door. How unusual for them to come calling. Without invitation, one squats down on the piece of bread in the middle of the tray. It settles in. The blue-eyes have other ideas and give them a good pecking. The green lorikeets join the public flogging team but the pigeons take quite a hiding plus a large portion of the bread before they call quits and return to their own tree.

Presiding above the activity below is the local magpie bird who seems to have little interest in the contents of the tray but still feels the need to sing for its supper. The clear notes ring out across the backyard. A beautiful serenade.