Pearls

I woke startled.  The clock flashed 3.27 am.  A freight train was going through the home.  The pressure within was intense.  It lasted no more than three minutes.  The wind, the rain, the hail.  It took that long to orient myself to the moment.  The cold front promised for the South West region had crossed further north.  I lay awake for the next few hours trying to visualise myself somewhere else.  Cygnet Bay, some 2300 plus kms north of Perth, on the Dampier Peninsular, came to mind.

Around 220 kms north of Broome, about half of the distance on unsealed, corrugated road, the trip to the Cygnet Bay Pearl Farm is a must do.  And, in my opinion, more than once.  Privately owned for seventy years it is a mixture of the old and the new.  The passion of the previous generations, still palpable, in the current one.  The landscape is untouched.  Red (pindan) earth, grey green foliage and the bluest skies and seas.  The air is clean.  There is a serenity here that makes me want to return.  This morning, only in mind.

The drive into the pearl farm is flanked by mango trees.  The Bay is edged by mangroves.  Water, mangroves, the Kimberley Region, usually equate to crocodiles.  Caution is never over estimated.  I’ve been here twice with others.  I still feel like I missed too much.  I want to return to see detail.  Like seed pods on the beach.  Clear pools where mangroves take hold.  The infinity pool is relatively new and perhaps, one of the more modern additions, yet blends beautifully with the landscape.

I absolutely love pearls.  My mother always wore them.  I do too.  I’m aware they are created by discomfort, an irritant.  But then, isn’t life much like this?  It is from discomfort that we grow.

Until next time,

As always

a dawn bird

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