The Return

The wetlands down the road are alive and teeming with life.  Like a ship in harbour, the beautiful black swans honk loudly to announce their arrival.  The wood ducks are an exquisite still life.  The Pacific black ducks are playful, skimming the water and skidding to a halt.  The ibis group together and add a white smudge to the gold and verdant landscape.  The solitary spoonbill is yet to arrive.  The corellas, dozens of them, watch with the disdain of those who do not appreciate adventure.  They fly from gum tree to gum tree in noisy groups.  The white heron and little pied cormorant have overstayed their welcome at the pond across the lake.  They are continually harassed by the crows to move on.  Yesterday, I watched the heron fly, landing precariously, on the poinciana trees that circle the pond.  At one point it alighted just above me.  The little pied cormorant and white heron are standing their ground but they will return to the lake, eventually.  This I know to be true.  Nature likes order.

My son’s engagement party was the fun event he and his fiancée hoped it would be.  It was easier for me to spend the night at my daughter’s home, than come home to an empty house.  I woke early, as usual, and wandered around.  She and her partner have turned their house into a home.  Her tell tale touches are everywhere.  An avid sports and comic books fan, so are his.  They have managed a perfect blend of ying and yang.  She and I had breakfast together and then shopped for a short time before she brought me home.  She introduced me to the tea shop where she buys her blends.  She no longer drinks coffee but enjoys teas and kombucha.  As designated driver, I noticed she nursed a glass of chilled water all night at the party.  She says has survived her teens and twenties and is of the firm belief, all roads have led her to be the person she now is.  Her laughter is sudden and as joyous as a peal of bells.  Little does she know, she has returned home to us, curious, adventurous, fun loving.  She has returned to be the child she always was.

The events of this week made me realise, time is precious.  Like sand in the hour glass, there is an urgent momentum that comes towards the end.  I have been reluctant to share my photograph with people for many reasons.  But, on the night of the party, impulsively, I took a photograph of myself and shared it with family and friends I have not seen in over 30 years.  Their comments have been interesting to read.  The long hair of my youth was cropped in the 1980s when life had more priority than blow drying my hair.  The slender frame expanded to give my children their first home.  Growing up in the deflected light of my beautiful mother and well loved and popular sister, I now have found my own place under the sun.  I have a voice.  I have a profession that fulfils me.  I have worked hard to be the person I have always wanted to be.  In doing so, I have returned, like my daughter, to the child I was.  Imaginative, creative, quiet, thoughtful, reflective, contented, but always knowing the process of being who one wants to be, is fluid.  It is a work in progress.  Unfortunately, I have family who misinterpret this as discontent and view the chrysalis with the disdain of the corellas.

If eyes are the windows of the soul, may those who meet me, like what they see.

Have a great weekend and until next time,

As always,

a dawn bird

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