Author Archives: Brad Frederiksen

About Brad Frederiksen

Engineer and analyst of electro-mechanical and digital systems by day job. Practitioner and student of life and art (broadly construed).

Unofficially sunrise

   After spending the last week working in Melbourne it felt good to hit the road last night for the return trip to Sydney. As I approached the midway point near Albury I watched the sun set in glorious pink fluff though my rear vision mirror and purple haze up front. Tempting as it was to stop and take some snaps I restricted my stops to short coffee topups at many a roadside service centre. I should have stopped around 11pm as the coffee was no longer keeping my awareness levels up, but the sight of the clear sky and stars prompted me to continue to Gundagai where I hoped I might try some sky photography. Shortly before 1am I arrived at Gundagai lookout. It was bitterly cold and windy but my mind was made up – here’s a few results!
 
   The orange glow in the sky was not visible to my cold, watery eyes. It’s roughly in the east, so I’m guessing that’s what sunrise looks like 4 or 5 hours before it becomes official. I persisted for close to an hour before my brain demanded sleep. Drove down to a little park in Gundagai packed with nomads in their RVs, climbed into the back of the car, and slept through the sunrise official.
 

 

 

 


Warp and weft

Warp and weft


 
Long exposure of a lightning plate with oscillating focal length woven through rotating space.


Tragic loss

She leaves her mask
on
the next seat with a note:

TAKEN.

I take the seat
and wear the mask
beside her.

She gives me a blank stare.

“Me too,” I explain,
returning her note.
“Sadly.”


Silverband Falls

At Silverband Falls, Grampian Ranges VIC

At Silverband Falls, Grampians National Park


Slowly cleaned alive

The frogs are calling—little clouds of steam
are visible around the solar lamps
that dot the garden by the swimming pool;
the pristine smell of eucalyptus damp
with sunscreen lotion, Aerogard and chlorine.

Little clouds of steam—the frogs are calling
across the family friendly tourist park
from hidey-holes around the swimming pool,
clueless that the garden has them marked
for death by slow approach to squeaky clean.


The room without books

   They say a house without books is like a room without windows, and a room without books like a body without a soul; they being Horace Mann and Marcus Tullius Cicero respectively, or conversely Marcus Tullius Cicero and Horace Mann temporally speaking, neither of whose books I ever got around to reading by the way, nor is it likely I ever will, since a room without books–call me soulless–can’t be a room with a window and a house with books at the same time. So next time you can’t put a book down spare a thought for those of us who can’t tear ourselves away from the window.
 

Room without books

Room without books


Ignoratio elenchi

   The sunbeam that glides over sleepwalking water is catching the wink in the sail, where clumps of the claystone of glazed orange ochre rub shoulders with wet inks of shale. Some say every silver-grey cloud has a mudrock, and every such mudrock its day; others say all the good silver-grey clouds have been taken so take come what may.
 
   So when did the silver-grey cloud of the day become the new fish in the sea? It all sounds like herrings of cherry conflating in snowclone to me.