I worked a long day yesterday. By night I needed reflection.
I went where I had lunch one afternoon. There’s a cafe to the right of this with beautiful views over water. But no, I wanted to be in the scrub! To my delight the place was teeming with birds. I know them well enough by the call.
I found a tiny male zebra finch with wisdom in his eyes.
Then there was the female finch. She flew up, caught the blade of grass in her beak and slid down, showering grass seeds on the ground. She then fed in privacy in the tall grass. Clever!
Ever watchful, high in thick scrub, were a pair of rainbow bee eaters. Aloof, silent, predatory.
The yellow honey eaters, feasted on flowers, their maniacal laughter-like call, harsh, for such a pretty bird.
With ‘lipsticked lips’ pursed tightly shut, the Pacific Gull was dignified in defeat as silver sea gulls stole lunch and flew away screeching. 
The Brahminy kite (I think), from the highest vantage point, watched all, then flew away silently.
Reflections on my experiences last night gave me a new understanding, life is not the journey we are given, but how we choose to travel. I recalled this in a poem which says it better, so I’d like to share it with you today …
A Strong Woman vs a Woman of Strength
A strong woman works out every day to keep her body in shape …
but a woman of strength builds relationships to keep her soul in shape.
A strong woman isn’t afraid of anything …
but a woman of strength shows courage in the midst of fear.
A strong woman won’t let anyone get the better of her …
but the woman of strength gives the best of herself to everyone.
A strong woman makes mistakes and avoids the same in the future …
A woman of strength realises life’s mistakes can also be unexpected blessings, and capitalises on them.
A strong woman wears a look of confidence on her face …
but a woman of strength wears grace.
A strong woman has faith that she is strong enough for the journey …
but the woman of strength has faith that it is in the journey that she will become strong.(Author Unknown) cited in a book ‘The Voice of Silence’ by Oonagh Shanley Toffolo.
May all the steps you take today, make you stronger.
Until next time
As always
a dawn bird
These tiny everlastings were flowers within flowers. Thousands of these roadside.
I thought they were exquisite.
This was a tiny flower. The sand gives some perspective to the size.
Then there were succulents.
Were these past their prime? Still beautiful, I thought.
And carpets of these succulents, too, along the sand hills, ocean side.
The wattle has a distinctive perfume. Like, honey.
Vivid colours in harsh country.
There were thousands of these along the coast too.
This 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.
The sun broke through, as it always does, just beyond the Small Boat Harbour, (Carnarvon).
I 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!).
This is the main street. Yes, that’s it folks! Finding a parking spot is always a cinch!
I remember seeing this male zebra finch in the scrub while driving 80 km/hr. My ability to see birds in unexpected places, still amazes me! But like I’ve said before, if you look for it, you find it.
The skies here are awesome. During a storm or …
on a clear day, as Barbra sang, “you can see forever”.
I found this outside the public toilets at Pelican Point, a favourite place for locals to do a bit of kite surfing. It always makes me smile!
This sunset at Back Beach in Bunbury, did, however, salvage the day for me. It was cold. It was wild. It was magnificent.
The storm passed over night. The next day I went to Big Swamp after work. There seemed to be more swamp hens than I’ve ever seen before. I love them! Usually shy, this one was bold and sounded a raucous warning of my presence.
The path to the water is decked with winter colours.
The purple pea flower was prolific winding over shrubs and trees.
I’m not sure what this plant is called but it is unusual. Flowers grow on stalks that are on both sides of the leaf.
I watched the sun rise beyond my favourite seat on the Bay. 
As day broke, I noticed the few days of storm surge had muddied the Bay, but did not steal the beauty. 
Although I love this sculpture, I’m always disappointed, someone did not have the foresight to position this in a better place. No matter which way you photograph it, there is always something that should not be in the background. Beauty, misplaced.
But not at Woody Lake. I found a wild clematis (I think) vine starting its journey across shrubs. Yes, spring!
And among the grass, scores of tiny yellow rumped thornbill, too quick, except for one.
A musk duck trying to look cool while expelling a blast of bubbles when attempting to attract a mate!
Perth Airport, just before I flew out the other day. 
I’ve come to know the Midwest is gorgeous in winter. This hill is on approach to Geraldton.
If you wake early enough, you’ll find frost on desert flowers in the mining region.
And when I return home, it’s time to stop and smell the roses.
I found a cluster of bell-like gum nuts at my feet. Although they will not bloom like other similar blossoms, their beauty is more accessible, close up. This is how it is meant to be, for some.
I look for solitary things in nature. Things that should belong together, but somehow fall away. Their beauty is undiminished, in isolation. For some, it takes effort to believe in this but when they do, the rewards are endless.
I prefer not to touch an object before I photograph it. I feel I need to respect the space where the object has come to rest. It was there for a reason. Things happen for a reason. It is something I’ve come to respect about life, too.
During this walk, I followed a trail of clover. It was a delicate wreath that wound itself around a massive rock. The dichotomy of strength and fragility, written in simple lines. And, yes, they can co-exist, each not detracting beauty from the other.
I know now, even green leaves fall away and come to rest until they disintegrate in the wind. This is their journey, not mine. The moment shared was finite. So is life.
Some are plain, beige, but sparkle best, when it rains. I’ve come to learn some people rise to their adversity, and can land softly, among rocks.
Some fade with a kaleidoscope explosion of colour. The message is clear. I was here once.
While others, are golden, among green. They signal season. A time for everything, and everything, in time.
Sunrise, Esperance Bay, Western Australia
Sunset, The Fascine, Carnarvon, Western Australia
Full moon, Wheatbelt, Western Australia
A cloud of little corellas, home, Western Australia
I woke this morning in cold and frosty Narrogin. It was a challenge to get out of bed but I could not help but feel so blessed.
The sunrise was magnificent over the township. Snuggled deep under covers, I felt I was the only one watching the sun emerge.
I stayed warm in bed, until past sunrise. I knew it was too cold, even for birds.
I then set off to Foxes Lair, took a deep breath while taking off my sunglasses and settled down to the big experience of the ‘here and now’.
I was there with the usual early morning company.
It was interesting to see the change of seasons reflected in nature. The bush is just starting to burst into colour, with striking fronds of flowers.
A little pink, too, here and there.
And, tiny flowers of ground cover.
The dryandra, beautiful but prickly, everywhere.
The honey eaters love this plant. Bees, too, but they were not buzzing today. Perhaps, too cold this morning for them.
The kookaburra emerged from a hole in the tree. It started to chortle. It sounded like a kettle coming up to the boil, before it reached the crescendo that is so typical of its call.
And when it stopped, it looked straight down at me!
The mulberry tree is stripped bare of leaves.
There’s a soft and squelching carpet underfoot.
I sneaked in a quick picture of a nest when there were no birds around. 
I came around the home to the side garden where the geraniums always bloom. Their vivid colour in winter is an obvious delight.
In the front garden, the roses defy winter, having found intermittent warmth during autumn. They are putting up a showy display before pruning.
This bloom is as big as an infant’s face. The perfume is exquisite.
I love this rose that starts to bloom with the faintest tinge of pink.
There is just one pink rose on the front arbor.
With a promise of another, yet to bloom.
A Shared Space 
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