Dreamscope Photography

02/09/2026

02/09/2026

Please find the time to help keep our shows going.

02/09/2026

Save the Date: I am a proud sponsor of the National Clydesdale & Heavy Horse Festival

03/08/2026

Yesterday, Margaret and I embarked on an exciting adventure to Kyral Castle, a place steeped in history and enchantment. The day unfolded beautifully, filled with laughter and exploration as we wandered through the castle's majestic halls and picturesque grounds. The atmosphere was electric, and we revelled in the experience, soaking in the stunning architecture and the tales of yore that seemed to echo through the stone walls. I also took the opportunity to engage in some post-processing of the photographs I captured, as the previous weekend's visit had been marred by the overwhelming crowds that filled the background of my shots. I have included a few unedited images so you can see the distractions; I like to edit to my taste and enjoyment.

23/07/2026

Many years ago at Bellellen Rise, there were two horses who couldn't have been more different — and couldn't have been more meant for each other.
Frankie was the big one. A golden Clydesdale with a flaxen mane that caught the sun like dry grass, and a soft white blaze down his nose. He had a number 16 still faintly on his side from his working days, and the kind of steady heart that never rushed. He had seen a lot of paddocks, a lot of seasons.
Cynthia was smaller, bay and bright, with sharp, clever eyes. She arrived at Bellellen Rise a little nervous, a little head-shy, with a pink rope halter that she didn't much like. She'd been passed around a bit. She wasn't sure humans were to be trusted.
Frankie saw her the afternoon she arrived. The farmers had put her in the paddock next to his, just to let her settle. She paced. He just stood at the fence line and watched her, calm and solid as a hill.
On the third morning, Michelle — who notices everything — left the gate between their paddocks just slightly ajar while she was carrying feed. Iaian said, "Are you sure about that, love?" and Michelle just smiled and said, "Let them decide."
Frankie walked over slowly. He didn't push. He just lowered his great head until his nose was almost touching hers. Cynthia breathed out, once, long and shaky. And then she leaned in.
That was it. That was the moment they fell in love.
From then on they were inseparable. If you saw one, you saw the other. Frankie would stand over Cynthia when the summer storms rolled in over the Grampians, sheltering her. Cynthia, in turn, would nudge him awake with her nose in the mornings and get him moving when his old joints were stiff.
And through all of it were Michelle and Iaian.
The kind farmers at Bellellen Rise never owned horses the way some people own things. They cared for them the way you care for family.
Michelle knew how Frankie liked his mane brushed — slow, from the bottom up, with a story told the whole time. Iaian knew Cynthia hated having her feet picked up too quickly, so he always knelt a little longer, let her sniff his hat first, and talked to her in that low, calm voice until she gave him her hoof.
On cold mornings, there were extra rugs. On hot Halls Gap afternoons, there were cool baths and shade under the big gums. There were apples cut small, carrots from the garden, and always, always time. They never rushed them. At Bellellen Rise, love is measured in time spent leaning on a fence rail, just watching.
Years have passed now. Their muzzles have gone a little grey. They don't gallop much anymore. What they love most is to stand forehead to forehead in the middle of the paddock, with the Grampians blue and gold behind them, breathing the same air.
Michelle says they are teaching each other how to grow old gracefully. Iaian says they taught him and Michelle something too — that love doesn't need to be loud to last. Sometimes it's just two souls deciding, quietly, to stand close together against the wind, for as long as they get.
And that's what Frankie and Cynthia do, every single day at Bellellen Rise.

23/07/2026

Frankie of Bellellen Rise
Frankie wasn't bay. Not really. In the early light at Bellellen Rise Clydesdales, he looked like he'd been poured from honey — a golden Clydesdale stallion with a flaxen mane that the wind couldn't help but tangle, a white blaze like a comet, and those great feathered feet that moved like snowclouds over the paddocks.
He was king of the top paddock, gentle king. The kind that would stand for hours watching the snow on the high country, listening to the old hut creak.
And then one spring morning, they brought him down.
In the flower-dotted field below the hut, wobbling on legs too long for his body, was something small and buckskin and bright-eyed. Kahlua.
Frankie stopped. Ears pricked. He'd sired foals before, but he'd never met one like this.
Kahlua didn't know he was supposed to be nervous around a stallion twice his size. He lifted his dark, fuzzy head, sniffed the mountain air, and trotted straight up to the big golden giant — as if he'd known him forever.
Frankie lowered that great golden head so carefully, until their noses almost touched.
It was a question and an answer all at once.
Kahlua gave a little squeak, a baby nicker that turned into a sneeze, and Frankie blew soft and warm over his son's face. The same white mark, just a smaller one, on Kahlua's forehead.
The people at Bellellen Rise say Frankie stood like that for a long time, just breathing in his son. The snowy mountains behind them didn't matter. The hut, the wildflowers, the snowgums — all of it went quiet.
That was the day the golden stallion of Bellellen Rise met his son, and the day Kahlua learned where he got his gold from.

22/07/2026

I have been busy the last few months with a children's book. I wonder who will guess who I feature in them. All names and people are fictitious.😉
Bramble the Magnificent and the General Merchants
Meet Bramble.
Bramble is the strongest, shiniest, fluffiest-footed Clydesdale in the whole valley. Every morning he wears his best harness — with the big blue jewel that jingles — and his very fancy red-and-blue feather, because today is delivery day.
Up on the wagon is his favourite human, the Merchant Mr Scott. In the back are five golden sacks full of corn and flour.
"Ready, Bramble?" called Mr Scott, holding the reins tight.
Bramble tosses his head, does a happy little prance — clip-clop, puff-puff — and off they go across the daisy field!
The wagon creaks, the lantern swings, the gum trees wave hello. Bramble grins his big horsey grin because he knows everyone in town is waiting.
And when Bramble delivers the General Merchants' goods, he always gets what every hard-working horse deserves...
An extra big apple and a tickle behind the ear.

22/07/2026

I have been busy the last few months with a children's book. I wonder who will guess who I feature in them. All names and people are fictitious. 😉
Dusty, Rusty and the Banalla Wagon
On the edge of Sunny Paddock lived two best friends, Dusty and Rusty.
Dusty was brown as chocolate, with a white stripe right down his nose and fluffy feet as big as mops. Rusty was his brother, a little shinier, always smiling with his big goofy teeth.
Every morning they pulled the old BANALLA wagon, painted yellow and green with little flowers, while their favourite human, Mr Adam, sat up top in his brown hat and blue tie.
“Giddy-up, feather-feet!” Mr Adam would laugh, tapping the reins gently.
“Clip-clop, puff-puff!” went Dusty and Rusty, trotting through the daisies. Their silver harnesses jingled like bells. The wooden wheels creaked. The hay in the back bounced.
They weren't going far — just down the hill to the market — but for Dusty and Rusty, it was the biggest adventure in the world, because they were doing it together.
And when they finally stopped, Mr Adam would always say, “Good boys,” and give them each an extra carrot.
Two horses. One wagon. One very happy day.

22/07/2026

I have been busy the last few months with a children's book. I wonder who will guess who I feature in them. All names and people are fictitious. 😉
The Three Brothers of Bramble Field
On the morning of the Summer Fair, three Clydesdales woke up with an important job.
There was Bram on the left, big and brave with a trot like thunder. There was Tumble in the middle, speckled and silly, who never stopped smiling. And there was Little Pip on the right, the smallest, but with the fluffiest feet in all the valley.
Behind them in the bright yellow wagon rode the Three Hatters — Mr Andrew, Mr Mark, and Mr Adam — with hats tipped straight and ties blowing in the wind.
"Ready, team?" called Mr Andrew.
Bram lifted his feathered foot high. Tumble tossed his mane. Pip gave a little hop.
And together — clip-clop, clip-clop, BOOM — they thundered across the green field, their polished harnesses shining like stars, kicking up daisies as they went.
They weren't just pulling a wagon full of apples and honey.
They were pulling the whole town's fair behind them.
And if you listened close, you could hear the three horses giggling all the way there.

25/02/2026

https://www.theregional.com.au/post/international-judges-assess-australia-s-heavy-horse-breeds-at-annual-festival?fbclid=IwY2xjawQMT11leHRuA2FlbQIxMQBicmlkETJBVVpidGptTkE1aElvNmdxc3J0YwZhcHBfaWQQMjIyMDM5MTc4ODIwMDg5MgABHpYeY8ncXpFClSKy_LIuMMqB3mDUbFf65yU0zoUrX2sw2-M31H9PQwY7V067_aem_fDh9ZAH8zp8P3KCSIsOUXw

THE National Clydesdale and Heavy Horse Festival has once again shaken the earth at Werribee as the world’s much-loved working breeds were shown off in hand, under saddle and in harness.