It’s a beautiful Sunday morning. It is typical of autumn in Perth. I went to bed looking forward to the next day and have been up for hours. I have a list of things to complete before heading off again. As the end of financial year looms (June), work ramps up with invoices to submit, and extra work to be picked up before the new budget. Being sick for three out of the four weeks in April has been a drag and I’m behind on most things. Today is the first day I feel well and myself again. I hope to make a small dent in what I have to complete.
My home is undergoing the second part of the renovation. I am project managing this. I have no idea how I fit it all in. It is chaos in the home with nothing where it should be. I’ve had to rely on superhuman resilience. I take one day at a time and within the day, I have moments where I come up for air. Like now. I learnt this strategy from nature. From the red cap sand plover.
The red cap sand plover is a tiny bird. I absolutely love them! They are very difficult to see along the shore because they blend in so well. I found one in Lake Thetis once and always on the look out for them when I visit. They are quick on land and scurry at great speed. I’ve only seen one fly maybe twice in all the times I’ve photographed them. They race across the sand, stop for a moment, feed and then repeat. It can cover great distances this way. If the strategy works for the red cap sand plover, surely it must work for me!
During one trip to Lake Thetis I searched for the tiny bird for over an hour and then reluctantly decided, it was not my day. I took one last photograph of the Lake before turning around to walk away.
Then an imperceptible movement caught my eye. By the shore.
It turned around and looked straight at me! Joy!
Then turned away, the beautiful red cap clearly visible.
The stride is quick and effortless.
The stop and stare, well, fierce comes to mind!
This bird is a tiny creature. Yet, somehow, has the capacity to fill vastness by mere presence.
Some people do this, too.
Until next time
As always
a dawn bird
I love the sound of my hollow footsteps as I walk down the ‘gang plank’ to the viewing area.
The stromatolites look like giant cow pats. I come here for the bird life too.
On one trip the white faced heron was my muse.
Such elegance!
And simple lines!
And in the distance, the large cormorant seemed almost fluffy, in comparison.
It is hot. It is red. It is dusty. The sky is blue. It is magnificent. 
There is a solitary tree at Spoilbank, in South Hedland. It is my favourite view from across the water. This is harsh country exposed to cyclones. I love the statement it makes. 
The muted shades of dusk.
The day ends beyond (tidal) Pretty Pool. It casts an iridescent glow.
The bird life at Pretty Pool is discreet. This heron was among the mangroves. It was barely bigger than a crow.
With a stretch that was amazing!
The tide had left a calling card. 
My favourite place early morning is near a church. The eagles like it too.
The magnificent cargo ships glide by, often without sound.
I’ve visited Cemetery Beach before when the turtles were hatching. (Yes, the beach is across the cemetery!). This time I found sculptures on shore. The real turtles in the sea were too quick to photograph.
A beautiful egret. An Eastern Reef egret, I think.
The rugged Pilbara shore.
I stood under the canopy. I knew I could choose to be either frustrated or excited at what I could hear but not see.
You can imagine my excitement to catch this fleeting moment, high up in the tree!
I watched dawn break and fretted about the clouds. The small plane would have to punch through these, the thought making me feel sicker than I had been.
As the sun broke through, I saw a line of birds above.
On one side were the Cape Barren Geese, large, ungainly birds on ground, but graceful in flight.
Dozens on ibis, untidy in formation, also headed somewhere else. (I obviously need more practice with my new camera!).
Far across the Lake, on my right, was a flotilla of pelicans, dozens of them. On my left, a solitary white heron, posture perfect, even when alone.
Thinking that was my quota for the day, I started to drive out of the reserve slowly when I saw it, sitting all plumped up, large as a hen, a common bronze wing pigeon.
Preening, pretty as a peacock, in an unguarded moment, challenging the notion of “common”.
Near my car, a silver eye feeding. Usually they swarm in small groups but this one was alone.
Eye to eye. For a moment, it was heaven, right here on earth.
Well, not quite! The noisy wattle bird, now silent, was within reach. Keeping my movements small, I put the sandwich down and picked up my camera.
Emboldened by the quiet, the bird started to feed. They are a joy to watch.
The wattle bird has ordinary plumage, and blends into the scrub with ease. But I look for the distinctive vivid yellow belly, when I find them, nestled deep in foliage.
The wattle bird is fascinating to watch when it feeds, with the delicate red wattles dangling on either side of the head. What is sacrifices in an unattractive metallic cackle call, it makes up in elegance.
When the wattle bird left to feed elsewhere, I found an acacia, the tiny flower, bright as a spotlight. It shone a light on a simple truth.
Not far away from my car, was a Western Grey kangaroo and joey. Aren’t they perfect in the bush!
These looked different to the ones in Esperance.
The eyes, large and luminous.
Was that curiosity or a ‘don’t mess with me’ look? This one was huge, the stance looked threatening.
With another joey, much paler than the other one, they were eight in the mob. They stared at me in silence. Oh! I wished my heart didn’t beat so loud!
When I’m in Esperance, now my second home, I wake early to catch sunrise at the Bay. I’m yet to see a repeat light show, as the one I saw that day.
I then head to Woody Lake where the white faced heron is perfect in silhouette.
In my garden, I breathe deeply. The roses are there to remind me. Life is sweet.
I’m not big on garden ornaments, but I love this one. My son used to sleep this way in infancy. He says it was a reflection of inherited work ethic. Head down, bum up!
This elegant statue I bought in Kalgoorlie. It is placed under the jasmine shrub. She waits for it to bloom. Waiting is good, sometimes.
I bought these rocks to remind me each day how uncomplicated life can be. Why make it anything else?
There would have been a time in my life when I have would turned tail and run, confronted. Not this morning. I felt I had the best company. The yellow throated miner bird sat still and silent. Reflective, like me.
My galleries and museums are now different. I look. Touch. Feel. Sniff. And taste the salt on my lips, and occasionally, cheeks. Yes, the galleries and museums are more interactive. I immerse myself. I don’t want to miss a moment of the experience.
These were embedded in rock. Immovable despite the power of the sea.
The tell tale signs of seagull that raided the turtle’s nest along the shore. What is food to one, is death to another. The cycle of life.
when I drove through a weather cell in the Wheatbelt, frightened out of my wits, the huge road train turned into a road angel that afternoon and illuminated the instant dark. I found silence and calm in a paddock, some 85 kms down the road.
About my work in Moora where I go looking for the butterflies in the garden of my hotel. She looked at the picture and said drily. “It’s just a monarch!” There was a slight thaw around her mouth when I said, “yes, wearing polkas!”
I told her about my work in Bunbury where I found the ocean turns pink at dawn.
And about the bees among the prickly dryandra in Narrogin, that look like a long eared bunny, close up.
About the filigree found in leaves that remind me of the silver jewellery gypsies wear in Rajasthan.
And the single, plain leaf in the sand that caught my eye even when there was so much more to see.
How the honeyeater’s song in the Goldfields helped me discover ….
among the tangles, there’s simple beauty.
How the flowers don’t all burst into bloom at once. Maybe Nature sets a pace to slow us down. Wait and see.
I told her about the seagull with the broken foot that probably landed too hard at Walyalup Rocks, but can still fly.
And about that time when locals in Bunbury asked each other if they saw the sunset the previous night.
A Shared Space 
You must be logged in to post a comment.