Finding spring

It is Friday night.  A winter’s night.  Rain is lashing outside with the intermittent hiss and spray of hail.  I’m rugged up but still cold, so I had a novel thought.  I’ll conjure up spring.

My colleague from the north sent me an email today.  “Bring your camera”, she said, “the flowers are out”.  I can’t wait to see them!  I know what a feast for the eyes wildflowers can be here in spring.  I had a glimpse of this last week when I was north, so I’ll share them with you while it rains.DSCN8552.jpgThese tiny everlastings were flowers within flowers.  Thousands of these roadside.DSCN8510.jpgI thought they were exquisite.DSCN8507.jpgThis was a tiny flower.  The sand gives some perspective to the size.DSCN8487.jpgThen there were succulents.DSCN8506.jpgWere these past their prime?  Still beautiful, I thought.DSCN8501.jpgAnd carpets of these succulents, too, along the sand hills, ocean side.DSCN8483The wattle has a distinctive perfume.  Like, honey.DSCN8496.jpgVivid colours in harsh country.DSCN8512.jpgThere were thousands of these along the coast too.DSCN8468.jpgThis was one of my favourites.  There were carpets of these, yes, acres of flowers, but this one caught my eye.  It seemed to support a whole colony.

When driving these flowers look like splashes and spills of colours in an otherwise beige landscape.  I’ve found it pays to stop and look closer.  I’m glad I did, because with the din of a wild winter outside, I’m able to share with you my spring.

Until next time

As always

a dawn bird

 

 

 

A gentle dove, came my way

 

I walked around the garden this morning and found I was wrong the other day.  The little nest I had found previously did not belong to a honeyeater, it belongs to the pair of spotted doves that live in my backyard.  They are now a family of three!

They reminded me of a gentle dove that came my way recently …

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On one of my  trips, I disembarked from the plane and realised I was unable to pick up my light camera bag.  A sharp pain and loss of power in my arm took me by surprise.  As the hours progressed I was incapacitated.  With my neck and shoulder grotesque with swelling and pain every time I moved, I was convinced I had broken my collar bone.  I sat up all night and waited for day break to see the doctor.  If I thought I had been through a nightmare, I was wrong, the worst of it awaited me in the morning as I hadn’t anticipated the challenge of dressing.

I slipped off the bed gently then proceeded to dress, muscle memory taking over my movements.  I had to stop immediately.  Befuddled by pain I had to develop another strategy and, mindfully, engage in a new set of motor planning sequences.  It took me the best part of an hour to do what I usually do in 30 secs flat.  I was dressed!  I was elated!  Fortunately, the X-ray came back clear.  I had hurt myself, but how and when, remained a mystery.  I had time to rest and recovered well.

I was in a small town where people didn’t know me.  More importantly, I didn’t know any of the medical services and was lost in town trying to find them.  I felt alone in my hour of need.  Yet, where ever I turned for help, a stranger came to my aid.  When I got to the doctor’s surgery I was in tears of frustration and pain.  The receptionist took me to a room for privacy, gave me a drink of water, held my hand and said she would stay with me until a nurse arrived.  She didn’t have to do this.  This came from her gentle heart.

Today, reflecting on the kindness of strangers fills my heart and home with light.  I believe, in a time of need, it is the gentle touch of human hands that makes a difference.  Perhaps this comes from my upbringing.  I was raised to believe, one cannot repay kindness.  One passes it on.  I strongly believe, what the receptionist gave me, is something she had experienced herself, at some stage of her life.

May you have an opportunity today, to comfort another.

Until next time

a dawn bird

 

 

Here comes the rain …

There is something quite distinctive about the monsoon season.  Those who have experienced it, will confirm this.  There is the ‘build up’, the oppressive humidity, that can be quite stifling and being indoors in air conditioned comfort brings on ‘cabin fever’.  One looks forward to rain with anticipation and when it comes, one rejoices with a sigh, saying “Here comes the rain”.  I’ve written about the monsoon season memories of my childhood elsewhere in my blog.  The time to revisit those memories now, seems appropriate.  I experienced rain during the monsoon season in my childhood, now I experience it as winter storms.  What a difference!

Perth has been in the throes of some nasty weather.  I was up north when a large portion of this very expansive State was under a severe weather warning.  It was still warm north but as soon as I saw clouds appear, I knew the skies would be magnificent.  So, of course, I headed out with camera.DSCN8681.jpgThe sun broke through, as it always does, just beyond the Small Boat Harbour, (Carnarvon).DSCN8700.jpgI delighted in the superb drama happening over this little town, quelling my fears of flying home through this and then to weather that was worse in Perth.  The flight back was surprisingly calm in the small plane.  But there was silence among the 34 passengers when the pilot announced we were going to land in poor weather in 60 km/hour high winds.  I know what 28 km/hour winds during landing feels like in this plane.  But 60!  I closed my eyes and visualized all good things in my life.  I found it was not a difficult thing to do.  Half an hour from landing I clutched the seat tighter and tighter, while we bounced and rattled.  We landed with an almighty thud and a deafening whoomf.  Then came the short dash from aircraft to terminal.  As soon as we stepped off the plane, it hailed.  (Yes, it hurts when it hits one’s face!).

The experience of monsoon rain is different.  There’s relief and seems like generosity of Nature, when it rains.  A winter storm is all anger and unpredictability, like Nature is having a tantrum.  I’ve come to love both experiences for all the sensory components they bring.

I do question myself from time to time.  Did I miss out on something special because I lived my life from month to month, skidding into the next season with a regularity that now seems mundane.  If I did, the time to experience life, is now.  And, that’s the beauty of living.  The now, is the starting point.

Until next time

As always

a dawn bird