It’s the last day of autumn. Tomorrow is winter. What a difference a day makes. (Truth be told, I’m already looking forward to spring). As I write this late at night, rain is dripping steadily outside.
I woke this morning to a horizon lashed with dark clouds. Winter is dark and wet in Perth, so I trawled through my photographs for colour and flicked these photographs through my screensaver. I needed the warmth of far away moments while I wrote reports in seclusion. I recalled …
The humble ground cover roadside in Bunbury that glowed like a star.
The beauty of water lilies in a billabong in the Kimberley. I will return.
The solitude of sunrise at Esperance Bay.
I found this banksia in Esperance when I went for a walk one evening. It was getting dark so I did not take my camera. I was deep in thought trying to process an eventful day. Then I saw it, candle like, low in the scrub. I kept walking but somehow felt drawn to it. Unusual because they bloom everywhere. Compelled, I returned to it. I leaned into it with my phone.
My eyes lit up. I saw perfection.
These were ‘stop and smell the roses’ moments. I’ve learned to respond to it immediately. The joy it brings is visceral.
Those who love photography, will know what I mean!
Until next time
As always
a dawn bird
I turned off my air con and coughed my way through the next 160 km. When I arrived I could barely speak, my mouth and teeth gritty with dust. The next day I headed further north east. I had another two hours of driving.
I could see the dark clouds build up on the horizon. I tried to beat the rain. It arrived before I could step it up. The rain was like a powerful waterfall. The wipers could not keep up. The road started to flood in places and my car bounced off sheets of water. I could not see a suitable place to stop and park. I was doing between 50-70 km/hour in a 110 km/hr zone. The stress of someone coming up behind me and not seeing me in time was ever present. The only thing I could do was hold my nerve and pray, “keep me safe”. 
I got to a tiny hamlet called Latham when the sun broke through and it felt like I was on another planet. The birds came out tweeting. The wedge tailed eagle. Pink Galahs. Tiny honeyeaters. And, I even saw a Maleefowl saunter back into the bush. The difference in the weather was unbelievable.
Another day of criss crossing towns and then I was finally on my journey home. This time I indulged in a little rubber necking. There was no one else on the road for one stretch of 51 kms, so I stopped and took this picture. One of the most meditative drives I’ve had in a while.
There’s nothing like a sunset across the water here. I caught a brief glimpse, just a memory of what I know to be here.
The colours then muted down as it darkened.
Then there was night sky.
As the light faded I found a wader perched on a rock, like me, watching the schools of fish, some that jump out of the water with a splash. River mullet, I’m told. I’ve seen them dance upright across the surface of the water, flapping madly.
The fish were too quick and perhaps, the school too big, so the wader had to be content among the molluscs. It was as still and silent, as me.
One last pic before nightfall, and I’m happy, satiated even, with the few moments I had with my camera.
On the road beside me were several inland thornbill, given their size, they are also affectionately known as ‘button bums’. Had I not been forced to slow down, I would have missed this beautiful moment of shared joy.
The rain had left a puddle in the middle of the road. The birds were thoroughly enjoying a communal bath, undeterred by my presence.
Some immersed themselves fully and then shook themselves fluffy. 
Others walked away from the puddle with confidence and returned. Dip, fluff, repeat.
There was one that tried not to get wet and stretched tiny legs to stay upright.
The result was inevitable!
While another took a break and found me the curiosity. And, that was just fine with me!
The view from my hotel bed is always spectacular. As soon as it was light enough I scrambled out of bed, bed hair tucked under beanie and headed to the Lair.
The fog hung low as I walked alone, taking in every sensory experience. The crunch of my footsteps, gum nuts showering around me (courtesy of the parrots), the birdsong, the honking of the Australian shelducks that chased each other above the trees, the smell of gum trees. 
There were boughs of delicate golden wattle, breaking up the grey green of winter that’s only weeks away.
Lichen painted limbs strewn carelessly.
While other limbs were decorated with frills.
The occasional splash of colour at my feet.
Then the parrot caught my eye. It was probably watching me long before I saw it! It was silent and blended in beautifully with foliage.
Soon followed by a shower of red robins that descended on the trees and shrubs around me. Curious about my presence, they were gorgeous!
As I was leaving I met a local who knows the reserve well. He told me he found a bunny orchid the day before, so I followed him like a child.
The bunny orchids on the stem were tiny. Each flower the size of a child’s pinky nail. Exquisite! My delight was so obvious, he left me alone with them!
I learn from educational programs. Is sugar good for you? The insidious nature of it should stop us in our tracks. If we stopped supporting the fast food industry, will we be healthier? Can we reduce the use of plastics? How do we combat pollution? For me, these TV shows have become an unwitting mentor to living life with meaning. I recall years ago when someone stood up and was counted. We now have labels that identifies food from source countries. The ones that say ‘some imported ingredients’, the percentage never identified, I leave those well alone. I don’t see any reason for fresh food to be transported from across the world, when it is available a few kms down the road.
The road out of Broome is initially a sealed one. Then comes the fun part!
About 90kms of unsealed road. I’ve driven up here with others on four occasions in different weather conditions. It has always been an adventure!
Sometimes one drives through deeply gutted and mousse like pindan (red) earth.
At other times one eats dust.
The road etiquette is pretty easy to adapt to. Ride the ridge to allow oncoming traffic pass safely.
I often despair watching children with hand held devices. Immersed in technology, they miss the world around them. So when I saw a young boy wetting a line on the beach, Pacific Seagull by his side, it made me smile. He could have been sitting in the hotel room playing video games. But he was out here at dawn, because he enjoyed the experience of what he was doing. He didn’t catch any fish. It was just the enjoyment of anticipation and being near the sea. He had a relationship with the environment. There is hope ….
I look at the ocean differently. The responsibility for keeping it pristine lies with each of us. The answer to a complex question ‘What can I do?” lies within the question. It starts with “I …”.
I look at the debris left behind by the tides each day. It’s the kind that makes me happy. Like watching a child fishing at the beach, it also makes me hopeful.
Between Kellerberrin and Merredin is a parking spot where I usually stop for a few minutes to stretch my legs. The solitary trees in the paddock and the wide open horizon, is a familiar sight. It was dark every where, yet, the horizon was still bright.
I left Merredin a couple of days later, with the silo paintings on my right. They are a welcome sight by day break, but invisible by night.
In the dark I knew I had familiar landscape around me. The water pipe, for one. It carries water from Perth to the Goldfields. It was commissioned in the late 1800s and completed in early 1900. It is the lifeline of the people of the Goldfields. I cannot imagine the hardship endured by the workers who constructed this for hundreds of kilometers in harsh country. A reminder, life for me may seem challenging at times, but in comparison, I have nothing meaningful to complain about.
At night the air was acrid as I drove through tiny towns with streets empty of people. Bakers Hill, Clackline, Meckering, Cunderdin, Tammin, Kellerberrin. At times a distant glow kept me focused. The farmers were burning paddocks in readiness for seed. I’m impatient for winter to see some of these beige paddocks turn gold with canola.
A Shared Space 
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