Author: dawnbirdau

I’ve just returned from my last trip to Kalgoorlie for the year.  The two days went fast.  Too fast.  As I’m booked back-to-back on these trips, I always ‘escape’ to the Aboreteum during my lunch break.  I love my time with the gum trees and birds.

The gum flowers blossom on straggly trees, their boughs droop with leaves, nuts and flowers.  They are ordinary to the naked eye.  I know this because I have ignored them for as long as I can remember.  But, in the absence of other things that catch my eye, Kalgoorlie has introduced me to the beauty of these flowers, and, the perfume of eucalyptus.

The gum nuts are hard, and each frosted nut, perfection-in-waiting.

Evenly sliced around the crown, the flowers frill into bloom.

Delicate and fragile, the bees and birds lead my lens to them.

Some resemble a lashed eye.

Sharing this space with me, is the singing honey eater.

I’m always surprised when my alarm goes off, reminding me to return to the clinic.  How can 60 minutes go that fast is a constant grumble, under my breath!

Reverie broken, the next few hours go faster, only because, I return at sunset, to see the leaves blush under my watchful gaze.

I have been incredibly busy as I wind up for Christmas.  I seem to be typing reports and doing nothing else.

So, before the sun set today, I thought I’d take you with me to the Aboreteum, to where the gum flowers bloom.

May your eye see, what my heart feels in this special place.

Until next time.

As always,

a dawn bird

 

A colleague and I were asked to spend about a week in the Pilbara region.  This request came when the temperatures were hanging around 35-39 degree celsius, deep in mining country.  I had never been to one of the towns and neither had my colleague.  We planned the logistics of the trip carefully.  We felt a quiver of excitement, despite the harsh conditions we were about to experience.

At the airport, we chatted like excited schoolgirls, reassuring the other, “We’ll be okay!” anticipating a long, hot drive that would take us over 500 kms in extreme heat.  Maps, google maps, directions and safety plan in place, we were off and ready to experience whatever the trip threw at us.

Our work over in Port Hedland, we left early morning on a Sunday, our car heavy with water.  “You can’t have too much water!”, we reasoned with the other.  We laughed when we realised, each of us had brought two phones each!  Well charged!  Left on our own, neither of us are good navigators but between the two of us, we are excellent!

Outback!  Here we come!

Like me, my colleague thrilled to the grandeur of the landscape on either side of us and before us.  We gasped in delight!  “Ohhhh! looooook!”

Having left Port Hedland early to avoid heat, we were nearly at Tom Price when we realised we were too early to check into our accommodation.  As our trip took us through Karijini National Park, we stopped for lunch in the afternoon.  We could barely open our eyes to the heat that radiated from this landscape.

We walked slowly towards a bench, hoping to rest and enjoy a snack.  We walked in silence, one behind the other.  Taking it all in.

I lagged behind, looking at small things.  The burnished seed pod caught my eye.

The delicate mulla mulla stopped me in my tracks.

The trees were huge and yet, looked like they were made of soft dough, spreading like ooze on the red earth.  I was tempted to poke it.  It gave the illusion of softness and delicacy, but it was strong and firm.  The tree reminded me of the nanny I had during childhood.  A sparrow of a woman, she was my role model of grace in adversity.  I stopped and touched her in memory.  The moment made me catch my breath.  She held my hand when I would refuse to go from one room to another at night, unless I had someone with me.  I know she would be proud of me today!

Below us were the most amazing gorges and waterfalls.  Water looked icy cold and tantalizing.  The walk down in heat, was something neither of us wanted to do, especially as we had not anticipated the stop and had not dressed for weather conditions.

An hour later we were at Tom Price, the highest town in Western Australia.  Cradled in the palm of ranges, it is a pretty town and took us by surprise.  We were expecting red flat, dust roads everywhere.  Our accommodation was at the foot of Mt Nameless.  Magnificent!

Two weeks before our trip the area was ravaged by a controlled burn that went wild.  The flames licked the edges of the park we stayed at.  The smell of destruction, still pungent.

I love this sunburnt country.  It is harsh.  It is unforgiving.  It is humbling.  It demands respect.  It also gives glimpses into the most delicate of hues.  Or the most vibrant.  Always surprising.  Always taking one off guard.

I was thrilled to make this journey with my colleague.  There was so much we didn’t know and had to research.  The joy of discovery was contagious.  It made the journey an adventure.

And, isn’t that what life is supposed to be?

Until next time,

As always,

A dawn bird

Just before spring and during spring, Foxes Lair in Narrogin was flower extravaganza.  It was not difficult to see beauty any and everywhere you looked.

In summer, I looked for smaller things.  Minutiae.  After the rain I knew there would be rain drops left behind, not yet found by the warmth of the sun.  So I went looking.  Often I cannot see the detail when I take a photograph.  It is only when on my screen that I see what my lens has captured.

I love these tiny purple flowers found growing in hard clay soil.  They are smaller than an infant’s nail.  They are blooming everywhere at the Lair right now.  So are the wild, native bluebells, stronger in hue, when blooming in shade.

The tiny, tiny, purple/blue flowers that I am yet to identify.  All growing gracefully under the harshest of conditions.

Then there were the pink flowers, strung together with strands of diamonds.

Along the hardened clay ground, the most exquisite and delicate flowers, similar to the mulla mulla found in the Pilbara region, were growing like ground cover.

The pink tendrils that grew along the ground, each smaller than the pinky finger of a child, but encrusted with tiny pink flowers.

I thought the moss under the shade of a huge gum tree looked unusual, so I took a picture only to find the ‘blurry’ white I noticed were the smallest of flowers.

So why do small things matter?

I hear people talk about their hiking trips to various parks but I am yet to see how it transforms them.  A hike, it seems, appears to be a hike.  They take in the grandeur, the largeness of the landscape.  They miss the detail.

In a three hour hike around the reserve I was dwarfed by large gum trees, and huge sprawling scrub.  I, too, could have been submerged in the vastness.  But, I found what the eye could not see.  I sensed there was something beautiful, so I took the picture. I had a visceral response each time when I did.

I have captured moments of oneness.  Moments of being attuned to my surrounds and being at one with it.  It is the essence of mindfulness.

Small things matter.

In relationships too.

Until next time

As always

a dawn bird

On Sunday I worked feverishly preparing to leave for my trip  before dusk to Narrogin, a town some 250km south east of home.  It’s a long drive on a highway with frequent reminders of those who lost their life on winding roads.  By the way, highway is used loosely.  It is a single carriageway shared with oversized farming equipment at this time of year, heavily wooded areas, so plenty of kangaroo roadkill and a steady stream of road trains.  I’m always glad when I arrive at my destination.

For me, Narrogin, is a charming town.  There are some who may not see it that way.  But I do.  I love the postwar architecture.

The major banks have the best buildings, it would seem.  Their presence is strong in this agricultural town.

I love the picket fences and roses, lovingly tended by arthritis hands.  And, at this time of year, the flowering jacaranda trees that carpet the footpaths with purple.  Best of all, I love the way people call me “lovey”, an endearment not often heard any more!

There are other reasons why I hurry to Narrogin, too.  It’s Foxes Lair.  So when I woke to rain yesterday, I was disappointed as I thought I’d miss my walk in the nature reserve just outside town.  I dressed in near darkness and headed to the reserve and waited with the birds for the rain to stop.  And when it did, the red cap parrot, high in the gum tree, and I, found the other, a benign curiosity.  I had only a few minutes of sunshine before heading to work.

This morning I woke to a town shrouded in fog.  Fog!  In summer!  What in the world!

And, behind me, the main road out of town, with Foxes Lair, just a few hundred metres away, and absolutely invisible.

The Lair was ethereal, draped in thousands of spider webs.  The smell of gum trees!  Deep yoga breath …. and out again!

As it was my last trip for the year I walked around the park for three hours, saying a lingering goodbye until next year.  I felt like I was saying goodbye to a loved one.

I walked around trails I had not walked before.  My footsteps crunching up the path, breaking the early morning silence.

And other paths, …. beguiling and mysterious.  I had no idea where I was going and it did not matter.  I was one with nature.  I was in my chapel.  It is where I find Him.

In my solitude I found myself noticing things I hadn’t noticed before.  The jewel amber like drop of gum sap.

The morning glittered with dragonflies everywhere.  I needed patience for one to alight on a delicate frond.

The butterfly with her stained glass wings, landed on a rock and posed, more beautifully than a supermodel with wings.

The Lair changes every month.  The flowers are prolific.  There were thousands of these bushes (I have no idea what they are called).

And just when I was somewhat saddened I would not see them in bloom, I caught a glimpse of the treat that the bushes promised.

In that quiet moment I understood what the poet May Sarton meant when she said, “Loneliness is poverty of self, solitude is richness of self”.

I have returned home enriched in mind, and spirit.  Today, I had the luxury of three hours but usually it takes only a few minutes of each day to experience solitude.  I seek it and feel deprived if I’m unable to experience it.  I firmly believe, loneliness is circumstantial, but solitude is a choice.  I embrace it.

May you find your path or paths to solitude.

Until next time,

As always,

a dawn bird

As the year draws to a close, I’ve been fortunate enough to get work in places I’ve never visited before.  I’m always happy to travel, but to travel to a new place, brings its own joy.  With no flights to the area, my colleague and I were forced to drive over 300+ km to Onslow from Karratha.

Onslow is about 1300 km north of Perth and on the coast of Western Australia.  The population is small with only about 600 people who call this place home.  The people are hardy.  The place is prone to cyclones.  I’m not sure about my colleague but I was slightly apprehensive about visiting, especially about accommodation.  Much to our delight, the hotel was modern, clean and right on Beadon Bay.

We arrived lunch time on Sunday.  The town was alive with the Sunday sesh at, it would seem, the only pub.  It was hot.  We were tired.  Lunch was delicious.  As I adjusted to my surrounds, like Cinderella, Onslow seemed to transform before my eyes.  The mud flats glistened and, like me, the sand plovers stood still to take it all in.

The flowers were made from velvet.  A reminder, beauty can bloom under a scorching gaze.

At the local park, perhaps one of the more poignant war memorials I’ve seen in a while, made us stop to remember those lost, and those left behind.

A walk along the boardwalk nearly led us all the way down to the beach but not quite.  The sudden stop had it’s own purpose.  It gave us time to stop and look around us.  In the quiet with just the sea breeze, we were in the middle of Grand Central Station.  Below the wooden walkway, there were prints left behind by reptiles, birds, an empty snake egg and a gecko at one with the sand.

The beach in Onslow is unusual.  The sand is dark and different to the sugar sand of Esperance or golden beige of Broome.  The distinctive colour adds hues and definition to the shells, most of whom were quite different to what I’ve found elsewhere.  Needless to say, I collected a few to share with you.

As I listened to my colleague preparing for the next phase in her life I realised I had never given that much thought.  I enjoy my work and my lifestyle too much to consider an alternative.  I am living my dream.  Until I visited Onslow.

I walked the beach in silence.  And, in that sacred moment I knew with absolute certainty.

When I retire from work, I will be spending the rest of my life walking along that foamy line where sand meets the sea.

Until next time

As always

a dawn bird

Goal setting is an interesting journey for me. I’m always looking at new ways to do this. It’s like flying over familiar territory and seeing a new perspective. It’s like seeing beautiful Broome for the first time.

Professionally, I am required to set some developmental goals and expected to achieve them every year. I do this easily in my personal life. The journey is often a private one, but professionally, it is harder. The goals are more complex and demanding, but, I achieved them this year. The feeling is one of exhilaration as my supervisor has stretched me professionally in a year of frequent travel. With the end of my professional development cycle in sight, I celebrated when I was in Broome recently.

 

My personal goals this year were to tick a few things off my bucket list. I have always wanted to stay at one of Broome’s oldest hotels. It is the grande dame of them all. The architecture is pure Broome, all corrugated walls, ceiling fans, frangipani scented gardens, water falls and lily ponds. It is also one of the most expensive hotels to stay at. Chilled champagne at check in, service staff to carry luggage across the gardens in golf carts and the food, delicious. Cable Beach, is just a stroll across the bar. There is only one track for 4WD beach access for locals and tourists alike. The narrow path carries SUVs to the beach and back (it is visible just to the right of the 2017 in the picture).

The other goal I had was to experience a camel ride at sunset on Cable Beach. It is a tourist thing to do. I’ve been to Broome over 15 times in the last few years but have never had the time to do this. During this trip, I allocated time for this goal and achieved it. I looked for an opportunity to enjoy ‘down time’ as part of my self-care. The opportunity has always been there, I just did not recognise it. I did this time.  I had written the goal.  It made the difference.

 

One of the most important lessons I’ve learnt this year, professionally and personally, is to know where I want to go and how to get there. I’ve developed my own personal map for this.  My journey continues.  Like the initially uncomfortable camel ride, one adjusts, finds one’s comfort zone and then sits back to enjoy the ride.  Hand on heart, I am.

Until next time

As always

a dawn bird

Six weeks into spring and I land in Esperance to winter.  The winds, biting cold, the sky grey and serene as a dove, the rain, gentle and steady.  I took a couple of day off to relax.  It is an enforced requirement in my job schedule.  I do it easily in places like Esperance.  The bench at the groyne that overlooks the bay is my favourite place to enjoy a cup of coffee at sunrise.  At times a seal or a pod of dolphins glide by or perhaps a solitary kayaker.

Determined to enjoy my break I headed out to Le Grande National Park, some 50 plus kms east of Esperance.  The weather kept folks away, even the toll guy.  Without the right change, I over paid my fee and drove in.  The park is large at 316 square km.  It’s easy to see if one is alone in the park.  The winding roads make traffic visible.  I’m exhilarated to find there is no one else around.  I am alone with nature and in nature.  The beauty of the Bays in this national park is stunning.  Nine kms from the entrance I stop at Hellfire Bay, a small bay, almost private, with the bluest water.  Next stop, a short few kms is Thistle Cove, cradled by granite cliff face.  I’m yet to walk down to the bay.  The pathway to the water is flanked by banks of native flowers.  The distraction is easy and never resisted.  Then, there’s Lucky Bay where kangaroos bask on the beach.  I see a few caravans in the camping site.  I’m not alone any more and I’m not sure if I’m annoyed or comforted.  The first sight of Lucky Bay is a lasting one.  It never fails to take my breath away.  To ask me which Bay is my favourite, is like asking me which is my favourite child.  I have not yet made it to Rossiter Bay, some six kms from Lucky Bay.  Perhaps, therein lies my answer.  On the way out, I take a quick trip to Le Grande Beach, all silver and roiling in winter-like weather.

For some people, it is a perfect day when the skies are blue as his eye and sunshine is a warm embrace.

For me, a perfect day also means when it is overcast and I wake to the sound of rain.  It gets me out of my comfort zone.  It brings on my ‘as if’ thinking.  “Do it as if the sun is shining” was my mantra during my break.  Looking at the sky in Esperance I took a chance there may be sunshine some 50 kms away.  I was right, some of the time.  It was worth the punt.

Perth went through a rowdy thunderstorm last night.  The rain came with drama.  I walked around my garden to find it alive.  The air is sweeter. The birds, like me, subdued. And, in that stillness I found it is possible, if I waited, there may be a rainbow, or two.  It is that feeling of anticipation, a glimmer of hope in the eye that scans a muted sky, that makes it a perfect day, because, one thing I know for sure, the sun always rises.

This post is for a friend.  Your encouragement means a lot.  I’ll write to you soon.  In the mean time, keep yarning!

Until next time

As always

a dawn bird

I woke one morning with the thought what if my Creator said to me “I gave you a Garden of Eden and …”.  I realised in that moment, I have been tempted by the serpent of anxiety that keeps me working.

Having resigned from one job, I am enjoying every moment of life.  Autumn is ending.  Spring is here in two weeks.  The air in Narrogin was still chilly enough to enjoy a hot beef roll with gravy and home made soup for dinner, warm socks, pjs, rubbish TV.  A perfect night in.

I spent early mornings and dusk at Foxes Lair.  The wild orchids are prolific at the moment.  They are fragile, exquisite and tiny.  Perfection!  They grow in harsh undergrowth.  Or under the shade of giant gum trees.  Now that I can identify the flowers, my eyes search and find them with ease.

I believe I have not only found my Garden of Eden, but I am living in it.  It was a gift, ignored.  Unseen.  It was always there.  I never saw it before.  Never experienced it before.  Never appreciated it before.

Sharing the space with my Creator, and with you, is the gift I give in return.

May you find your Garden of Eden, too.  It’s worth the search.

Until next time

As always

a dawn bird

I’ve been criss crossing this big State, what I consider to be, at the best time of the year.

Spring should be here next month.  The countryside in the Midwest is awash with wildflowers.  At Geraldton Airport there is a huge spill of black eyed susans across from the tarmac.  In the Wheatbelt the canola fields are flourishing.  Sadly, the rain has reached some farms and not others.  It is interesting to hear folks speak with some optimism that rain will come.  They say this without rancour despite their neighbour’s farm shining yellow with gold.

I’m learning about the weather from farmers.  The rain can come as predicted, while others wait.  In a farming community where towns are barely 50 kms apart, this must be difficult to experience.  But, community spirit is strong.  As is optimism.

Over the years, my optimism has been nurtured by sunrises and sunsets.  It is when I adjust my compass.  While driving to the Wheatbelt, a hazardous journey, I constantly looked in my rearview mirror to catch a glimpse of sunset.  I usually try and beat the sun by arriving at my destination before it disappears.  Still 20 kms from my destination, this time, I had to stop and take a picture.  Against an open paddock, the sunset was stunning.  And, once again, I found my field of gold.

May you find what you are searching for.

Until next time

As always

a dawn bird

 

“Happiness is a direction, not a place.” is one of my favourite quotes by Sydney J Harris.  The quote underscores what I know to be true in my life and never more true than at this time of my life.

I have resigned from one of my contracts.  The feeling of release was instantaneous.  I have loved the work and the team but the job offer came three years too early.  Grasping at a future that would see me comfortable in semi-retirement, tired me emotionally, physically and spiritually.  The decision made, I am where I used to be.  I am, once again, facing in the right direction.

Despite the hectic travel schedule I have learned to enjoy my environment and to see something new each visit.  My camera has given me this gift.

On a recent trip to Exmouth, I decided to walk along the shore at sunrise.  The beach, at first glance, is typical of the coast of northern Western Australia.  Balmy, clean, beautiful.  But, it was the stark simplicity that made me look more closely.  I found coral tassels, pristine seagull feather, perfect excavation by a tiny creature, a lace covered coral nugget, coral eggs and a coral branch, coloured rocks scattered like petals in my path and hearts made of stone, some broken, now softened and mended by the sea.  Dare I say I could not resist bringing some of these treasures home.

I am rugged up in a fierce storm.  Winter is saying goodbye.  There is a clump of snowdrops at my doorstep.  How such delicate flowers withstand the ferocity of high winds is beyond my comprehension.  But, they have survived the last few days.  And, I know, so will I.

As I’ve said before, it is in the midst of winter, we look forward to spring.

May you find your direction today.  As did I.

Until next time,

As always,

a dawn bird

 

There is a difference between going on a silent walk and being silent when walking.  I’m learning about the latter.  It is all about the sensory experience.

I set my alarm an hour before sunrise so I could turn the heater on, then dressed and waited for first light.  I drove to Foxes Lair, Narrogin, turned my windows down, took off my sunglasses and watched nature at her best.  I inched into this 68 hectare bushland.  I know there are grey Western kangaroo here but have seen them only twice before.  This time, we played a game of spot the kangaroo!  The bush at this hour is magical.  The birds eat, play and then groom themselves meticulously.  The white cheeked honeyeater is somewhat smaller than the ones in the South West and the markings seem to be more striking.  The humble red western wattle bird always catches my eye.  Some find them ordinary.  I think they have a certain elegance.

I focused of what was happening at my feet.  So engrossed was I that I only realised there was someone else nearby when a dog on a lead became impatient as his owner stopped.  An elderly lady looked bemused.  A local, she asked me what was the drawcard that brought people here with their camera.  She could not see what I could see.  The flowers I was photographing were mostly tiny.  To find a primrose spider orchid was a special treat!  I walked up to her and showed her a few of my photographs.  She looked at me, saying, “Oh my word!  I had no idea!”

My prayer that morning was a short and humble one.  I asked to be shown something beautiful that I could share with others.  My prayers were answered, I believe.

Until next time

As always,

a dawn bird

I heard a silent snigger, like I had drawn the shortest straw, whenever I told people my next trip was to Paraburdoo.  Some 1500 km north of Perth, it is deep in mining country, with a population of around 1600 people, most of them work in the mines.  Despite all my travel, I have never been here.  Not knowing what to expect, I held my breath flying out to the unknown.

As we left the familiar city coast, we veered north, away from the ocean, and soon over the most spectacular landscape.  I had no idea this area is so beautiful.  The land looks like it has been sculpted by water, with ranges and gorges as far as the eye could see.

I naively expected a regional airport but could not resist a smile when we taxied up to a small demountable building, proudly labelled, Paraburdoo Airport.  We picked up our luggage from an open luggage trolley.  I dragged my suitcase across red dust to the car rental office, small and cool.  The cars here are made for a life that is hardy.  I stepped into the car expecting it to reflect the life of drivers here but it was surprising clean.  So far, so good!

I headed into the townsite, cradled by ranges.  More surprises!  As the sun set, the ranges  lit up in the most gorgeous muted light.  The transformation of harsh red into pastels was watching a painting in progress.  The main street in town was lined with palms.  Palms!  It gave a semblance of main street.  At the end of  a street was the Catholic Church, a suburban home where locals worship.

I circled my motel.  A multi-purpose building it would seem.  The restaurant was closed, as was the drive-in bottle shop.  On the other side the bar, that also housed the TAB (the official gambling agency) was open.  Customers had parked their cars and headed indoor to cool.  It was a warm 29 degrees celsius.  I gathered up courage and walked in to pick up my key to the motel room.  Despite the years, I’m still getting used to unconventional check ins!  My room was simple but spotless.

I took a short drive to the only shop, hoping to find something edible to eat, but before getting there, I stopped by the side of the road, to take in the incongruity that makes this place so appealing to the locals.  And, to my right, found a mulla mulla bush in full flower.  Then, I exhaled.

Until next time

As always

a dawn bird

I’ve just returned from a quick trip to Exmouth, 1200 plus kms north of Perth.  The town of 2500 people is small with fishing and sea activities being drawcards for the tourists.

The drive in town is always a delight for me.  One has to watch for emus.  They have right of way.  Despite their enormous size, they can be difficult to see until they just about run into the car.  This one kept ahead of me and I was happy to loiter behind it.

Town Beach is a lovely place to be.  As the name suggests it is in town, just a few hundred metres off the main road.  Being a peninsular, the sun sets and rises over water.  The beach has a few obligatory white 4WD that are so common across sand in northern coastal towns.  The sunset, in a word, spectacular.  The muted shades of pink, blue and persimmon muted conversations too.  At daybreak, the rising sun performed magic, and something in me shifted.  Just a little.

I have never been tempted to pick shells or pebbles off beaches.  I always believed they belong there to be enjoyed by others.  But on this trip, something clicked in me.  I recalled my father singing ‘Catch a Falling Star’, a song made famous by one of his favourite singers, Perry Como.  The words …

Catch a falling star and put it in your pocket
Never let it fade away
Catch a falling star and put it in your pocket
Save it for a rainy day

I realised I desperately wanted to bring home some of the beautiful stones.  So like a child in a candy store, I stuffed my pockets.  Soon, every time I bent over, I was aware I needed to pull my slacks up.  My pockets were weighing heavy.  I emptied them on a bigger rock and kept collecting.  Then like a bower bird, I made several trips to the car to transport them back to my hotel.

The beach pebbles are in my home now only to remind me, I was glad I caught a falling star.

May you catch your falling star today …

Until next time

As always

a dawn bird

 

The visit to Marlgu Billabong  was a magic carpet ride.

Three women piled into one 4WD.  I sat in the back of the other, while two of the men in the group sat in front.  Often forgetting I was there, they talked candidly about love and life.  In silence I listened to their sensitive and meaningful perspectives.  How similar we all are!  We all hurt.  We all regret.  We all dust ourselves off and try again.  We all seek meaning to where we were, where we are and where we want to be.  The cycle of life.  I listen in silence and feel grateful for the opportunity to be where I am.

During the usual bone crunching ride we stopped intermittently.  The traffic and views are different here.  We let the yellow spotted monitor cross the road.  The shark was perfectly preserved in fierce heat on the salt flats.  Crisp to the touch, it did not even have an odour.  Soon we were taking the winding road to the Billabong.  We arrive.  In a word, breathtaking!  Acres of white, pink and purple water lilies.  The biodiversity of this place is astounding.  The birdlife prolific.  I should have better photographs but the sheer joy of this place made my hands tremble.  While focusing on the snake I heard an almighty splash.  A crocodile!  But the deceptive beast snuck just below the surface of the water and remained there.  The snake bird emerged and stayed on the bank.  It is a large bird and stretched so far that I struggled with the focus.  The Nankeen night heron found a tasty morsel.  The delightful jacana with a blood red forehead.  Exquisite bird!  The elegant white faced grey heron.  Alive with all kinds of life, the noise at the Billabong was music.  A few hours here was a few hours too few.

For now, I return in memory.  But, I will return, some day soon.

Until next time

As always

a dawn bird

 

The male Great Bower bird of the northern region of Western Australia is an industrious bird.  At the homestead I observed two young males diligently honing their wooing skills under a sprawling tree.  One chose shiny metal and green glass while the other preferred smooth pebbles.  The bower they created was not as refined as it could be.  But then, they were apprentices, still learning.

To be known as a bower bird is to collect things.  I think I fit this category quite easily.  I love antique and collectible shops.  I bought some old camp pans and a griddle recently when travelling through the south west.  They are worn and have been used well for what they were intended.  I could see folks sitting around a campfire, enjoying solitude and companionship.  Having experienced that recently, I wanted the same spirit in my home. where they find new use as pot planters or containers.  People exclaim in delight as they are unusual.  Their intended purpose, to bring people together, is kept alive.

The positive spirit message, it is said of bower birds, is one of love and giving.  Seeing the green glass reminded me of an incident years ago.

A ‘poor’ student I loved wandering around the antique fairs that were held twice a year in an affluent western suburb.  I rarely bought anything but got pleasure from seeing things from yester year, and dreamed big … maybe one day.  From a distance I saw a beautiful green pottery vase.  It was the shape and colour of the vase and streaming gum leaves that caught my eye.  I walked to it without blinking, reached and turned it over.  The label stated it was a piece of Australian pottery from the 1930s with the price tag indicating it was several hundred dollars.  My knees buckled.  There was no way I could afford it, so I loved it with my eyes and hands and placed it back on the table carefully.  The elderly lady who was selling the item came up to me.  “Would you like it, my dear?” she asked kindly.  I just smiled and said it was beautiful but no sadly, I could not afford it.  She offered to sell it to me on a payment plan saying she knew it would be in a home where it was loved and appreciated.  It took me the best part of a year to pay it off.  At the last payment, I took her a bouquet of flowers.  She wept saying she could not remember the last time someone gave her flowers.  The story is one of generosity of spirit between two strangers.  It is a legacy that will find a place in my son’s home one day.  He likes the story.

Like a bower bird, I’ve come to realise, life is rich when there is purpose in what we do and how we do it.  Like the apprentice bower birds I am still honing my skills.  And, therein lies the purpose.

Until next time

As always

a dawn bird