Crickey can’t believe that it is 5 months since I last wrote on this blog. Well as some of you will know I live down here in the Southern hemisphere in Dunedin, New Zealand. There has been some rugby fever around recently as several of the World Cup games have been played here at the new stadium (including England ,Ireland, Italy, Romania, Georgia and Argentina). On the art front I have just finished another ‘nun’ painting and posted it on here in my portfolio. I have heaps ideas for future ones, just need to get them down on canvas. Back in August I had very good intentions of entering an Australian Cricket Art Competition but time run out unfortunately. A cricket poetry competition was running with it and I thought I would enter, as I had a few days to write it before the closing date. The brief was to write a poem about cricket in 150 words or less. Coming from a family with three older brothers I did have fond memories of the game, playing it on holiday at the beach and in the back garden. Less fond memories of being hit in the face with the cricket ball and being carried into the house crying. Anyway loving a challenge I entered. To my amazement a few weeks later I received an email saying that from several hundred entries, it had made the top twenty and was going to be read out aloud by actors in Australia. I did receive an invitation to attend the opening night of the art/poetry exhibition at the member’s pavilion at the Sydney Cricket Ground but unfortunately living way down south in New Zealand had to decline. The opening is this week on Thursday 6th October. It will then be revealed who has won both the art and poetry competitions. Very exciting, trying not to get too excited though, but I am very chuffed to have made it thus far. Here is my poem incase you were wondering/interested in what I had written. Cheers ~ Anni Grandpa Grandpa always favoured this ground Circled by oaks spreading and round No longer a player but reliving his youth When he used to hit sixes over the pavilion roof. Creamy cable knit becomes soft checked shirt Nimble legs now arthritic and hurt. Eyesight once sharp and keen Replaced with bifocals and a dream Of those magical matches on Sunday afternoons That he enjoyed and relished but ended too soon. Instead of a full toss or boundary four His eyes sometimes close while watching the score He sips sweet tea from his thermos flask His memory fades and he doesn’t ask About his former team mates And he just sits and waits. Now he relaxes and watches from his canvas chair A soft twinkle in his eye and wisp of white hair. Memories are precious things that can always be replayed Sleeping in summer’s heat, 28 degrees in the shade. Anni Morris ~ August 2011