Author: dawnbirdau

“Bloody hell!” the exclamation is loud and startles me awake.  My neighbour has found frogs in the toilet!  A very Kimberley experience, even in hotel rooms in expensive Broome, at certain times of the year.  But, he’s from the East coast of Australia and not used to this!  The frogs are the bane of our existence for the rest of the trip.  We have arrived in these parts just after a biblical wet season.  I cautiously flush the toilet every morning to get rid of them.  During the day, the communal toilet near the campers and caravaners is a safer bet.  I found the frogs find it easier to congregate near the pipes that are easier to reach, so I prefer the middle toilets.  One learns this through trial and error.  There is something very simple and uncomplicated about living life this way.  The trek to these toilets, on the other side of the homestead, is worth it, if for nothing else but to read the simplicity of signage.

The walk to the homestead is a short one.  A horse is still feeding at my window.  The rising sun unveils the ridge.  It is dark lashed with trees, that, oddly, is hardly visible during the heat of the day.  In the front of my hut, the hardened ridges of the big granite Cockburn Range is softened like a smile by dawn light.  Horses, goats, wallabies and emu, all ordinary animals, made extraordinary in the most gorgeous golden light.  I don’t know where to aim my camera.  There are celebrities everywhere in this red earth landscape!

At the homestead, the fire has already been lit.  The billy tea is brewing.  We talk to each other softly still strangers in a stranger land.   We are a curiosity to the horses who pause intermittently to look at us.

Soon we are feasting on a hearty breakfast.  Eating crispy bacon, scrambled eggs, charred toast and sweet billy tea, is a memorable feast!  While chasing that ever elusive blue faced honey eater around the homestead, I see an unusual feathery end to long fronds in a bush growing in the yard and zoom in.  Barely the size of a child’s thumb, it is an explosion of pink and white tiny, tiny flowers.  It becomes a source of delight when shared with the owners of this place.  They have had the shrub for years and had never noticed the beautiful almost invisible flower that grew at the fingertips of the shrub.  The delight of this discovery, for me and them, is almost as big as the heart of this country.

After breakfast our writing retreat begins …

Until next time

As always

a dawn bird

 

After a cuppa we climb back into the 4WDs and driven with our gear a short distance from the homestead to the bush huts.  It is clean, simple and uncomplicated.  A bed with overhanging mosquito net, an adjoining open air shower and toilet, is my home for the next week.  The walls and roof are corrugated iron.  There is no ceiling.  The open rafters and wooden slats that make up the roof and flooring are no barriers to creatures that call this land home.  A tree attempts to give shade over the roof in the heat of the day.

A shower under a clear sky is luxury.  A quick change of clothes and we are ready for the evening.  The young boy, no more than 11, is stoking the campfire.  I watch him burn the grass under the drum with a lit stick.  His 9 year old sister reads my silent gaze accurately and informs me he is making sure there is nothing to alight should embers rain down.  In the city, the combination of fire and child would ignite adults into action.  Not here.  He is clearly in charge of the chore and trusted to do it well.   His sister respects his ability and responsibility.  So do I.

Soon more people have gathered around the fire, freshly showered, some with beer in hand.  The cowboy, the men and women, who have worked all day, have the distinctive tan of this region.  Their skin is leathery, brown, and deeply creased.  The cowboy plays his guitar.  He has spent the day riding a horse into ever constricting circles.  His “hup, hup, hup” sometimes loud and instructive and at other times, gentle and soothing.  He holds no grudges against the horse that bucks.  Someone else tells a yarn.  There is laughter, music and comfortable conversation.  We have become a group of intimate strangers.  Metal on iron, the dinner bell is rung.  Like an ocean to shore, people move towards the food in waves.

We head to bed by 8 pm.  This is a working cattle station.  We are all early risers.

The first night is pure apprehension.   The walk to the hut by torchlight through grass seems longer than I remember earlier in the day.  Surprisingly, there are few mosquitos in the hut at night.  The geckos know this.  They scurry outdoors on approach.

I had left behind an expensive hotel room in Kununurra where I made attempts sealing up the door with towels to keep a tiny gecko out of my room.  I was unsuccessful and only fell asleep each night out of sheer exhaustion.  Here in my hut I felt vulnerable, a flimsy net providing an illusion of safety.  I used my headlamp minimally to keep insects (and preying geckos) away and climbed into bed in record speed.  When I catch my breath I find the air is cool.  Once in bed, I dared not get out to find my socks, so I wriggle my feet vigorously against each other to generate warmth.

In the dark my hearing is acute.  I hit record on the phone.  It is the only flask I have to carry the elixir with me when I leave.

I hear the resident emu, Marilyn, grooming her feathered quills with a long, sweeping motion.  The horses and wallabies chomping grass almost at my ear aroused the child in me.  I wake to every sound, curious, darting the flashlight to catch a glimpse of whatever it was.  A flock of birds!  The sound is similar to the Tour de France racers.  The lengthy winged zoom tells me there is a canopy above the vast paddock.  The brolgas, probably somewhere near the King River, with their distinctive call.  I close my eyes to see them lift their wings in slow motion, circling each other in elegant dance.  In the far distance, a dingo howled.  The horses have been spooked.  Now in fast gallop, there is urgency in the sound of hooves.  I fall asleep, waking intermittently, to gentle rhythmic snoring from the men on either side of my hut.

In this alien landscape I burrow deeper into skin that breathes.  I am alive.  It has taken me a long time to get here.  I find a smile in the darkness.  Still clutching it, I birth new from this wondrous womb, at first light.

May you wake to find your True North, too, some day.

Until next time,

As always,

a dawn bird

 

 

I meet my fellow travellers at the hotel in Kununurra.  We go to a café for a quick lunch before heading off to Wyndham, about 100 km northwest.  Despite the air con the ride is hot.  I am silent for most of the trip, taking in every moment.  This, after all, is a major ticket item on my bucket list this year.

Once off the main highway in Wyndham the road is unsealed and corrugated for another 40 km.  We pass the salt flats, now covered with a film of enough water to draw in the birds.  I see some species I have never seen before.  Some how I manage to spot the tiny red capped sand plovers.  It’s the movement that always catches my eye.  They are exquisite creatures.  I am a child in a toy store.  I take it all in.

At times we drive through riverbeds, some dry and some a low running creek.  The wet season has left its signature in the tumble of smooth stones, boulders and river debris.  We drive along the narrow shoulder that adjoins the King River.  It is brown as coffee, flowing lazily, somewhere below.  When the tide recedes, there is a sooty line left in its wake.   We scan for crocodiles on the banks.  None today!

Soon the open spaces of station country and the Cockburn Ranges come into view.  Horses and cattle are grazing.  From where we are they are just specks in the landscape.  We are at the cattle station.

We have been watching a bush fire for several kilometers.  There is anxiety in the crackle of voices on the two-way radio.   The paddocks are on fire and being monitored.  There is concern about the feed for the animals.  We finally arrive at the homestead.  Someone alights and opens the white metal gates.  Now, with arms wide open, the cattle station welcomes us with benevolence.  We drive through slowly.

We are introduced to the homestead and to the verandah that skirts it.  We can see for miles past the paddocks to the Ranges.  The horses lean over the fence in curiosity.  The blue face honeyeater is a familiar visitor.  I did not realize at the time I would spend a few minutes every day chasing it for that perfect shot.  I’m not sure if I succeeded.  It is a beautiful, if unusual, bird.  Olive brown, black and white with a vivid blue face.  I separate myself from my group briefly to take it all in.  The camera is my ruse.  It legitimizes the moments of ‘apartness’ I need in a crowd when seeking a moment.

Most of the workers or volunteers are out somewhere in this vast station.  Those who remain are introduced to us.  A family with three young children ranging from 9-16 years, are taking a break from the city.  Travelling around Australia for a year they are experiencing life as a classroom.  I’m intrigued to hear they even joined a circus once for a short time, doing odd jobs.  Oh! To walk in the shoes of the 9 year old!   A young woman from Tasmania is on a path to healing after serving her country.  She has driven across to this remote region in a caravan with her dogs.  I am filled with admiration to hear of her courage.  Two European backpackers, skilled horsewomen, are busy with chores in the corral.   A cowboy walks into the kitchen with spurs clinking on stone floors.  He says, “g’day!” to all within ear shot.

I have arrived in another world.

These were the first steps in an amazing journey.

Until next time

As always,

a dawn bird

While walking through Celebrity Park, Kununurra, locals would walk by glancing in the direction of my focus.  They soon got used to my presence in the park and would ask, “have you seen the rainbow bee eaters?”  At that point the birds were elusive.  I knew they were in the park but even with the incredible biodiversity, I could not find them.  And then, just when I was focused on something else, I caught glimpse of them early one morning.  Right above me, a pair, with one chomping on a dragonfly.

Once I saw them, they were everywhere, their distinctive tail streamer, setting them apart from the sacred kingfisher.  In sunlight, I could not get a good picture of their beautiful markings and colours until one dropped down at my feet in the tall grasses along the Lagoon.

So, naturally, I share with you a rainbow at my feet!

Until next time

As always,

a dawn bird

 

 

Across the road from my hotel in Kununurra is Celebrity Tree Park.  Yes, although a highway, it’s a stroll across a road that is often without heavy traffic!  There are plenty of boab trees at the Park, but I love the oldest and largest boab tree.  It is huge, tactile and the urge to lean against it’s wide girth is something tourists, like children seeking their mother’s skirt, cannot resist.  It is my go to place in the Park, too.

Late at dusk one evening I was heading back to my hotel when a honeyeater caught my eye.  She bounced off the side of the old boab and suspended in space, flapped her wings vigorously like a hummingbird.  She was quick and agile and I could not get my focus right.  Oh! the frustration!  She disappeared over the other side.  I circled the boab with her.  She then stopped and to my amazement I found she was feeding her chick.  Her frantic wings were a way to disturb the insects off the boab.  These are tiny birds so the chick was no bigger than a small thumb.  Perfectly camouflaged, it was safe.  I stood still and at a distance witnessing a precious moment of nurturing.

As a child my play consisted of dolls and houses.  I was constantly tending to my children.  At one point I had so many dolls that I played hospitals, taking turns being doctor and nurse to my patients!  The need to nurture was strong.  It followed through into my career and my personal life.

I’ve enjoyed a long weekend at home and the opportunity to catch up with my children.  In a world that is chaotic and the propagation of fear rife, I made a concerted effort to make the house a home and to have meals with the family.  It seemed important to create a base of safety for them.  As I walked through the house, which, three years on, I’m still trying to settle into, I found a strong motif emerged in the paintings and sculptures I have.  They all represent the theme of mother and child.

On holidays, the theme was still strong.  It’s one of those things.  If you seek it, you’ll find it.

Until next time

As always

a dawn bird

 

Kununurra is about 3000 km north of Perth, and borders the Northern Territory which is only about 40 km away.  It lies in rich country of the Kimberley region.  Cattle, fishing, diamonds, agriculture and unsurpassed beauty of gorges, waterfalls and landscapes, are hallmarks of this region.

I’ve been to Kununurra several times but always for work.  I love staying across the road from Lily Creek Lagoon.  The Celebrity Tree Park runs alongside it, another favourite haunt of mine, because of the birds.

This trip, time was mine.  I would wake before sunrise and drive up to the jetty.  The sun rises beyond.  It is always spectacular.

I had been told there were crocodiles in the lagoon but had never seen them on other visits.  Locals will tell you, “they are just freshies”, meaning, the crocodiles are freshwater crocodiles, not the fearsome “salty” (salt water crocodiles).  Freshies will only attack in mating season or when provoked.  So they say!  I do know, it is wise to heed local caution around these waterways.  The region has had a very wet, ‘wet season’ and there is plenty of moving water this year.  Reptiles like this.

Early one morning, so early, even the birds had not yet broken the silence of the day, I stood at the water’s edge.  There was no one else as far as the eye could see.  Then I saw the surface of the water break.  An imperceptible movement.  I held my breath as the unmistakable silhouette of a crocodile emerged.  We shared the same space for less than a minute.  Silent.  Still.  It then slowly swam away with a lazy swish of the tail.  The Lagoon was glass again, but, this time, I knew the crocodile was just below the surface.  I was thrilled!

In the silence I could hear my heart beat.

Who knew something I feared could thrill me too?  I learnt something about myself in that moment.

Nothing was the same again, for the rest of the trip.

More on that later …

Until then,

As always,

a dawn bird

 

 

So much space and time between posts.  The reality is … I’m still on a high.

My holiday to the far north of Western Australia to the outback Kimberley region has left me contemplative and without adequate words to describe the experience.  So, I’ll do the best I can in short bursts.

I was unwell before leaving and decided to spend three days in Kununurra resting.  Well! whatever that means!  I was out every day for hours photographing birds and landscapes.  I’d nap in the heat of the afternoon, and then out again.  I have taken over 1000 photographs and need time to catalogue them.

I’ve met real cowboys, travellers, writers and just ordinary folk who choose to live life on their terms.  The thought of them is like breathing in the freshest air.

For now, these pictures of the cattle station I stayed at bring me home … wherever that may be.

Until next time

As always,

a dawn bird

It was an impulsive decision about six months ago to make today happen.  The feeling of unclipping away from the harness of life as I know it, was intense.  I felt it.  A moment of release.  I had to respond to it.  The day is here.

I’m off to the northern part of Western Australia to beautiful Broome and beyond.  I think I’ve spent more money on my gear than the holiday itself!  As I prepared for today I realised I had never visited a camping store before but have found enjoyment in browsing through BCF (Boat, Camping and Fishing) shops, Anaconda and Kathmandu.  Who knew hiking boots were so expensive!  My toiletry bag has the bare essentials.  My suitcase even lighter.  A pair of ear rings. Jeans.  Good quality cotton tee shirts.  Lots of sunscreen and insect repellant.  Band aids.  A hat.  I’m good to go.  Actually, I have been since February!

Broome has a sensibility about it that is difficult to describe.  You just have to experience it and people experience it differently.  It resonates on a spiritual level for me.  I’ve made huge decisions here about my career and consequently, my life.  I’m not sure if the boab trees will be in bloom at this time of the year.  I do love them.  Each has character and is unique.  One of my favourite places to watch sunrise is over Roebuck Bay at Town Beach in Broome.  I’ve taken scores of pictures of this boab tree and the nuance of the moment is always different.

This time I’m going further north than I have ever been.  It is regarded as the outback.  The thought of those wide open spaces makes my heart race.  The landscape is magnificent.  And, there are tiny things that tug at one’s heartstrings, too.

I have been unwell for the week in the lead up to today.  I’ve had to cancel work commitments and stay in bed.  It has given me time to stop and reflect.  What do I want from life?  The answer is simple.  I want balance.

Decision made, I’m off to enjoy the most amazing experience of my life and will be back in a couple of weeks.  I have limited to no access to technology where I am going.  No white noise!  I know I will enjoy the silence.  I’m off to find balance.

Until then

As always,

a dawn bird

 

When I arrived home after a long trip I found a text from my son inviting me to lunch.  I try not to refuse any request to join my children for a meal.  It seems to be the only quality time we get together.  Tired and unwell as I felt, I went off to meet him.

Over a beautiful Thai meal my son discloses how stressed he is feeling.  He is a manager of a retail shop and is busy with pre stocktaking KPIs as well as trying to manage his university commitments.  He has just moved houses and trying to pay the bills associated with that.  He’s due to go on a conference too which will limit his earning capacity for a few days.  It all seems too much for him.  We talked through this pressure time.  It’s the eye of the storm, I tell him.  This, too, will pass.  A burden is only a burden is it is carried alone.  We talked about who could step in to help him with of the practical issues he was confronted with.  Problem solving made easy.  He hugged me after lunch and told me he felt better after catching up with me.  The hug was a reassurance, for me, and him.

I told my son about the storm cell I went through last week.  The weather report stated a thunderstorm in the Wheatbelt.  As with weather reports, one dismisses it as a bit of rain, noise and drama especially as I left Perth with blue skies and the warmth that comes from 27 degree celsius.

Just after Cunderdin I noticed a band of black in the far distance.  Too far away to be worried by it but delighted in the rainbows that flicked through dappled light.  Then, without warning, it hit.  At 4 pm it was darker than midnight.  The noise was deafening.  The rain was a waterfall.  Thunder made my teeth rattle.  Lightening danced and bounced across the paddocks in long golden streams.  I noticed 4WDs pulled off the road.  Unable to see, even with high beams, I dared not follow them.  I feared getting bogged in a ditch.  The only object that gave any comfort was a huge road train ahead of me.  Large and as lit up as an office building at night, it kept a steady 50 km/hour.  Puddles were turning into huge pools.  This land is clay and floods easily.  I stayed as closely as I safely could to the road train and drove on dry land in it’s wake.  My heart pounded with anxiety but my hands and eyes were steady.  “Keep your eye on the road train” was my mantra.  Eighty five kilometres later, there it was, a patch of blue.  I stopped for a moment to take a picture.  Within seconds, the landscape turned from dark and angry to the mellow colours of farming sunset.  Yes, the crisis, passed.

Although the storm did not hit Merredin, not even a drop of rain, the birds seemed to be affected by it.  There were no small honeyeaters.  Next morning the black cockatoos with their splendid red tail feathers were loud.  When they left a solitary red western wattlebird appeared.  The sky was blue as I left it in Perth.  All was normal again.

Plan A was to get to Merredin safely.  Plan B got me there.

I firmly believe in teaching my children the value of Plan B.  I believe it is more important than Plan A.  It is in Plan B where resilience is nurtured, where it takes shape.  Plan B can be a saviour.

Until next time

As always

a dawn bird

I’m learning that sometimes life takes you to places where you see extraordinary things in ordinary places.

I’ve spent a lot of time in the scrubland of Big Swamp over the last few months.  It is a place of delight and a highlight of my weekly trips to the south west.  I often stand quietly near the scrubland past the boardwalk.  I find the fairy blue wrens here.

Early one morning she caught my eye.  A small bird, erupting vertically above the bushes and then disappearing.  My step quickened.  The colour was neutral but I caught glimpse of a butter yellow breast.  I knew I hadn’t seen the bird before.  I scanned the bush and stood quietly.  Then she flew in.  Perched on the branch and faced the sun.  A moment that made me catch my breath.  My camera was quicker and caught her in a rare moment of quiet.  Then, poised, and as fleeting as a heart beat, she was gone.  The memory still makes me smile.

This energetic bird is difficult to see.  The markings and colour blend in beautifully with the surrounds.   To see one is to know it is there.  Then, one seeks it.  Much like truth.  Much like knowledge.  Much like life.

Until next time,

As always

a dawn bird

 

“Courage is knowing what not to be afraid of”, the quote is attributed to Plato.  I’ve reflected on this several times in the past few months. The new year has demanded this.

My new work schedule includes working two days a week in a multidisciplinary clinical setting.  It has taken courage to do this.  The work itself is familiar but the work environment and client population, are not.  I’ve had to learn ‘a new language’ as clinical meetings are conducted in jargon and acronyms.  After a period of adjustment, I’m settled.  I’m enjoying it.

On the face of it, I was nervous accepting the job.  It required the usual set of professional skills, in addition to having the ability to work independently as well as part of a team.  The client population is varied from young adults to elderly people.  I shift gears several times a day.  It is a youthful team of highly experienced and skilled staff who take pride in what they do, and do it well.  An outsider, I’m thrilled to be accepted as a contributing member of this team.

Driving to the south west is a lengthy minimum 2.5 hours drive.  I’ve learnt to accept this as a ‘holiday’.  I relax when I’m in the south west.  I walk the beach.  I photograph birds.  I have leisure time when I’m not working.

It is ironic I enjoy being near water as much as I do.  A non-swimmer, it is my nemesis.  So catching a female fairy blue wren peering over the bridge in Big Swamp took my breath away and then I experienced joy.  I realised she was not afraid of the wide expanse of water or the height.  She has wings.  She can fly.

Later that day I walked along the beach.  It was one of those evenings when a storm further north was making everyone restless.  In the distance, I watched him.  A new friend.  The waves roared up against the rock face.  He did not flinch.  He stood for a moment longer, watching the raging waves melt into foam again.  The waves went back to where they came from.  The sea, was a sea, again.  He knew this.  The knowledge made him unafraid.

Over forty years ago, on arriving in Australia, I peered into the vastness of opportunity.  And, I’ve had to stand strong in raging storms.

Today, there is one thing I am certain about.  I know the difference what I need to be afraid of, and what not to be afraid of.  I have knowledge.  I have wings.  I have courage.

May you be blessed with the same.

As always,

a dawn bird

I have been incredibly busy and I’ve yearned to catch up on the blog.  Despite the busy schedule I’ve been fortunate to have a day’s break between trips.  This allows me to explore the area wherever I am.  The coming year promises to have a lot of travel and I’m looking forward to this aspect of my work.

I recently visited Narrogin, Western Australia, some 200 km south east of Perth.  In fact, I’ve now visited the place twice.  Time does fly!  As I had not spent over night here before I looked for things of interest.  Foxes Lair came up as one of the places to visit.  The entry into the bushland is unsealed gravel road, so I proceeded carefully.  Just as well, too.  No sooner had I entered, a large male kangaroo jumped across the road ahead of me in one leap to join his mob on the other side.  Spectacular!  They are elusive and blend perfectly into the surrounds and impossible to photograph unless they are comfortable having humans around them.  I returned to this place several times.  It is a place of enchantment.  More so I hear during spring, when it is renowned for the wildflowers.  I’m impatient to see the transformation.

I waited for sunrise one morning.  It streamed in silently through the tall mallee trees two hours after I got there.  The sun appeared half an hour later, higher up in the sky, at 8:40 am, peering out, a half-open, sleepy eye.  This is country living!  Even, Mother Nature takes it slow and easy!  I watch the light illuminate the world around me.  The magnificent gum trees.  The vivid bark, once used as a tanning agent, stripped bare off the mallee trees.  The delicate buds of the acacia.

I take it all in.  A sensory feast.

My favourite prayer comes to mind, “The morning is my chapel.  It is where I seek and find Thee”.

I’m off again, and again, and again ….

Until next time,

As always,

a dawn bird

It’s International Women’s Day today. The hashtag says:  BeBoldForChange.

This post is to celebrate all the women in my family, in my network of friends and colleagues and in all the communities I have lived in. They were bold, well before the word hashtag became part of everyday vocabulary.  They adapted to life with flexibility and courage.

Women I have observed, first try and make a difference in the microcosim they inhabit by loving and nurturing their families and their community.

The women who were employed in my childhood home never had access to social media and yet their wisdom glowed in the dark for me. If their knowledge was inaccurate, it was, at least wonderous!

My mother who worked as a salesperson in a showroom, as a working wife and mother, was well ahead of her time. I remember her saying, “never mind” soothingly to my father when he was distressed he had to resign from his job at 39 due to ill health.  She was the main breadwinner for a period of time before they started a successful business. She was dignified in times of adversity and set the bar high. Little did she know, her sacrifices were observed by small children who continue to emulate her today.

My A/A, an aunt by marriage, always held her head high and found a rightful place for herself and her children within a large family after she left my uncle.  It those years, a travesty. My A/E lost two children and bore her unimaginable losses with grace.

A/M and A/Em, A/Mi, all neighbours, as young widows and mothers raised their children singlehandedly into the wonderful people they are today.  They have gone on to be grandparents in UK, Australia, Canada, USA.

My beloved Mrs B, my former landlady who lived through the horrors of WWII losing her father, brother, husband and two little sons, survived a Siberian camp and still had room in her heart to love and nurture me like I was her own.

My teacher, Mrs E, who taught me to expect the best from myself first.

My cousins who keep the bonds of family strong when siblings have walked away to follow their own dream.

My childhood friends who make the internet a playground again.

My daughter who shows me the way that was, and the way it should be.

My future daughter in law, who lost her mother at nine, still carries within her a locket of childhood in her paintings.

And on a day of celebration, as a woman, I am grateful for the gift of motherhood. It gives me the ability to view the world through a child’s lens of wonder.

Like the shy, timid swamp hen may you see beauty in your reflection.  In your boldness to be who you are.

Until next time

As always

a dawn bird

 

 

 

I was never close to my mother.  I have yet to come across anyone that accepts this without judgement.  Warm, generous, beautiful, with impeccable taste in hospitality, home and fashion, she was loved by all who knew her.  Overwhelmed by people’s reaction to her, in my childhood, I chose to disappear into her shadow instead of basking in her light.  I recall we always seemed to spend twice as much time in the Church yard, than attending the hour long Mass.  Ignoring my impatience, people would flock to her, each with a story that she attended to patiently, giving hope where needed, encouraging when all seemed lost.  People seemed to get more comfort from her than from the pulpit in the previous hour.  It is not surprising, as a young widow at 46, she became a pastor in her later years.  Although the kind of Christianity she espoused, the kind that promotes and values prosperity, was too far away from the magnanimous one I was raised with.  Our discussions on her new and literal understanding of our faith, were fierce and fiery.  One day we reached an agreement.  We would not discuss religion.  And, we never did.

I observed my mother closely.  Always did.  And, in my pre-teens and teens, I moved as far away from her social persona as I legally could.  I felt I never measured up to her expectations, so I made sure I was successful at this.  As I age, it becomes more obvious to me, I had observed her more closely than I realised.  I now know, one observes for a reason and because of interest.  Ironically, it is the very essence of what I do for a living.  Those observations have led me to where I am today.  I am now living in her light.  The light she shone before she was born again.

Roses remind me of my mother.  I have an indelible memory of watching her drape a pale pink silk chiffon sari effortlessly.  A pink rosebud tucked into the side of her neat chignon.  A small pink and silver clutch in her hand.  Long, silver chandelier ear rings called jhumkas.  Silver sandals.  A light spray of the newly released perfume, Madame Rochas and she was good to go.  I walked behind her to the front door, inhaling deeply.

I walked around the front garden yesterday, deep in memory.  The spirit of my mother’s graciousness was overwhelming.  I’m uncertain how I would measure up to her expectations now.  But there is one thing I know for sure.  Had you been standing on the other side of the front door, my mother’s sentiment, the ever gracious sentiment, would have been perfectly reflected in the Irish playwright Richard Brinsley Sheridan’s words: “Won’t you come into the garden?  I would like my roses to see you.”

May your presence be honoured wherever you are today.

Until next time,

As always,

a dawn bird

A solitary seagull

walks along the shore

leaving footprints in the sand,

and nothing more.

She takes flight

hovering briefly,

above a blue sea

glassy eyed

with memory.

Back on shore,

landing on her feet

she walks regally

to show me

a crushed heart,

can still beat.

Until next time,

As always,

a dawn bird