“She refused to say goodbye, It had a finality. A brutality. It was a point of reference. It had the power to define what was before it and all that came after. So she found a way to say goodbye, framed within a eulogy to friendship. After all, memories are meant to keep one warm, make one smile and soften the ragged edges. Or do they?
Suddenly, the uncertainty caught her off guard. She shivered. Facing the monstrous truth, her face crumbled.
She was child again.”
The above is an excerpt I wrote during an impromptu exercise. It had special relevance to a moment in my life. (I now realise, when put into perspective, yes, a moment of one’s life).
Since that point of reference, the sentiments in the excerpt reflect my feelings at sunset each day. It’s an ambivalent moment for me.
Like a child with a toy, I’m always reluctant to let go, even though I know dawn will start the cycle again.
Until next time
As always
a dawn bird
I was in the outback, far north, staying at a cattle station just before the mustering began.
Standing by the corral at dawn, I didn’t notice him while he worked, so entranced was I, by it all. 
But when he stood patiently waiting for toast to turn brown, sipping billy tea from a tin mug, “g’day” escaping from the corner of his mouth, he caught my eye. 
He had an aura. It was how he worked the horses, that made him unique.
He sat down slowly, as if in pain, guitar cradled in his lap, a beer clenched in a calloused fist. His feet were bare, untouched by the sun they glowed infant pink. His arms were also bare, nut brown and muscled from reining in, a black bandana around his head, adding colour. He took a thirsty swig, leaned over and placed the bottle on the grass in the space that separated us.
He travels the world, searching for the horse that no one can ride. For him, life and love, is that simple.
In autumn, the Mallee gum trees are frosted with blossoms.
I’ve come to learn, the Australian Ringneck parrots, love these gum trees too. I follow the scatter of gum flowers from one trail to another. 
There are boughs of flowers, and sometimes, even a neat posy.
And the ones that are past their prime, are still beautiful.
Sometimes, just a hint of colour in the scrub.
Delicate buds, waiting to bloom.
The Prickly Dryandra is favoured by the smaller birds, who appear after the parrots have left.
But not this time. They were sitting on the tree branches, highly visible to the eye.
This one took my breath away.
And this one did the same.
I’ve lived for over 25 years in my neighbourhood and had never stopped to watch a white heron in flight. I do now.
I never realised, the beige of the Wheatbelt is beautiful at dawn. I do now.
Who knew a front garden filled with roses, is a welcome like no other. I do now.
Sunlight warms the whitest iceberg. I do now.
In a forest, the trees are not green, it is the leaves that make it vivid. I do now.
Previously my hiking boots stomped on leaves and stones, ignoring the fallen one, tortoise shelled by age and sun. My steps are now lighter. I do now.
My curiosity was blunted. I never stopped to wonder why. I do now.
I didn’t know, the Black Swan raises cygnets, as white as snow. I do now.
And, when I’m not home, snowdrops bloom at the front door. I do now.
I didn’t know life was meant to be lived, eye to eye. I do now.
I parked my car in the driveway and found the pink roses looked fatigued too. 
Strewn with rose petals, my front garden looked like a wedding had taken place.
While climbing roses on the arbor, reluctant to let summer go, clung on. There are ‘pockets’ of garden around my property. A legacy of the previous owner, a florist. It is a delight! Something seems to be blooming somewhere, making it always a garden. Being home so infrequently and for short visits, I enjoy looking around to see what lies in wait. I’m never disappointed.
No muted shades for this little one in the side garden. Reflecting the vividness of sunset.
And, there were others, still beautiful, before they fade away.
The geraniums always bloom. 
They are a welcome splash of colour in winter.
This shrub is covered in spokes of purple blooms.
There are no roadblocks in life. Just many opportunities to restart.
A Shared Space 
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