Last night I was disciplined. I went to bed at a decent hour. That’s the last memory I have. I needed to crash.
The first sounds I heard this morning were the excited screeches of lorikeets, the sound synonymous with trees, so I rummaged through my photographs and returned to the mornings in Kununurra.
I usually stay opposite the tree park. It is one of my favourite places to walk in the mornings. I stride across, purposefully, for the massive boab, the matriarch.This time I found, like me, a butterfly needed a soft place to land.High above, there were a few boab flowers coming into bloom. They are exquisite. Thick, creamy petals that fold over like heavy taffeta …… the inside, emits the softest pearly light.I wandered around for hours, the sense of oneness under these trees consolidated a promise to return.Beyond the green is Lily Creek Lagoon where this tiny bird held me captive. On this morning, Mother Boab taught me, nothing says new life more eloquently, than a sprig of green on gnarly, old limbs. So here I am, typing my post, experiencing life differently.
I’m off again in a few hours. I’ll be flying over Shark Bay, where the waters will be bluer than the sky today. The thought makes my eyes shine.
Until next time
a dawn bird