I’ve been home for a few days and the urge to travel again is constant. It leaves me vulnerable to being impatient, and out of sorts. I have been yearning for the wide open spaces of rural Australia where the horizon is endless. The colours of the land, sea and sky, in a word, amazing. I yearn to wake to splendor. I yearn to wake to a new day. I find this so hard to experience in the city.
The months of June and July flew past. I was busy beyond words but energised. I spent most of my time in the Midwest outback and some of my time in the Southwest where winter had a cold and windy grip.
The beautiful Leaning Tree in Greenough lies in a paddock with grace. I stopped in homage to this magnificent tree.
The colours in downtown Geraldton are beautiful. Would you believe this was taken in the middle of winter?
We drove from Geraldton to Mt Magnet and got to The Granites just before dusk. We scrambled up the rock face to a landscape set aglow.
The contrast between colours of the earth and sky was breathtaking. This was a moment to sit quietly and exhale. So we did.
High above the tiny mining town of Yalgoo sits the Dominican St Hyacinth’s chapel in all it’s one room glory.
From the warmth of mining country to the timbered country of the South West, was a challenge. The drive to Collie from Bunbury was slow but beautiful.
The plant, a yellow clivia, is an unexpected gift. I placed it in the foyer of my home. I wanted it to be the last thing I see when I leave and the first thing that greeted me on my return home. It brings sunlight into my day.
I have always loved brass and copper pot plant holders. I have run out of space in my home to show case them, so I have to stop buying them. Brass reminds me of my childhood.
The brass buttons on waiters’ clothing at our local military club, the local watering hole for the Army folks and their guests, is a fond memory.
I remember women placing brass containers on their head and carrying water home in those areas that had communal water sharing facilities. How heavy that would have been and yet they walked with poise!
The brass scoop that we used to pour water into our glasses was kept spanking clean by cook. In those days brass was kept shining by rubbing vigorously with ash from coal fire.
Yellow is synonymous with welcome, with sunlight, with warmth, with gold.
One of the sayings I love is “Silence is not always golden, it is sometimes yellow”.
May the sun shine on your day in many forms, as it did mine, today.
It is an untidy, straggly looking shrub/tree that is draped elegantly with tassles of pink and one of my favourite native flora. On a cold morning in Collie, Western Australia, the sun broke through the fog and I made a beeline for these beauties that were in someone’s garden. They are exquisite in detail and burst with colour from a tight pod. What’s not to love about them?
I’ve returned home after a few days in the South West. No trip, of course, is complete until I visit the Bunbury wetlands if I’m in the town and I never tire of my experiences there.
One evening work finished a bit earlier than planned and I rushed to the wetlands with my camera just before dusk. I was alone there. Well, not quite. The air it would seem was alive with birds but I couldn’t see them. The tiny silver eye were there in flocks. My prayer each time I’m out with my camera is a simple one. “Show me something beautiful so I can share it with others”. I was not prepared for what was to follow …
I heard them before I saw them. The clickety clack of a bike on the wooden bridge alerted me someone was approaching. I stood behind a shrub and observed, friend or foe, the area being lonely before dusk. She was a young mother, slender as a reed, she parked her bike and lifted her blond haired boy from the seat to the ground. They came around the corner and saw me. They were as surprised to see someone there as I was. We made polite conversation, she being from further south and I, from the city, north of Bunbury. Knee high to me, he was silent as mother and I pointed to the invisible birds to share our delight with him. In a random moment, I got one photograph. “Ohh! look!” I exclaimed and shared with his mother. As we laughed at my fluke shot I remembered him at my knee. Silent and barefooted, his tiny pink toes, gripping the grey footpath, he waited patiently as adults talked and laughed above his head. His patience more impressive as he is not yet two. I bent down and showed him the photograph. His face lit up. He smiled. His chocolate brown eyes shone like stars. As I drew myself to stand up, he made eye contact with me and said, “More”.
I went back to my hotel knowing, prayers do get answered, so I share this story with you.
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