Author: dawnbirdau

Recently on impulse my daughter S, her boyfriend M and I drove to the south west region of Western Australia one Sunday to spend the day.  A 600 km return trip.  It felt like a week long holiday!

We started our day with early morning breakfast at Koombana Bay in Bunbury where dolphins visit on a regular basis.  Then to Margaret River, our premier wine and surf country.  We visited The Berry Farm and delighted in the Splendid Blue Wrens as they fed off M’s hand, then a leisurely bush walk through a raptor sanctuary before a late lunch at a boutique brewery then headed back home laden with beautiful olive oil, balsamic vinegar, cheeses, chocolates, fruits and wine.

As we walked in light rain, soon there were no derogatory comments about my photography but rather a keen interest in what we were observing.  An ordinary ‘blow’ fly, now still and jewel like, a Western corella, high up in the gum trees, a tawny frogmouth, perfectly blended with the bark of the tree stump, the stony faced barn owl, caught in a moment of mirth.  Before long, S and M were drawing my attention to birds, flowers and trees.  Fully engaged with the environment, their senses on alert, they would shhhh each other, “listen!”.  At the end of the walk S turned around and said to me, “For my birthday next year, if you are looking for a nice present, I would love a good camera”.  M chimed in with plans of where they could visit, look for special landscapes, research flora and fauna and they would have their weekends sorted out.  Listening to them made my heart soar!

To hear my high spirited daughter suddenly find nature has something special to offer, was revealing a new side to her.

In that moment I knew we understood each other.  It was a joyful gift to give and receive.

Until next time,

As always,

a dawn bird

As a child in India, besides being snap frozen at Midnight Mass, Christmas had special meaning.  It was a celebration that came from, and with, heart.

As December approached, Christian households would be a hive of activity.  Nibbles were made specifically at this time of year with the intention of sharing. It was “Burra Din” (roughly translated Big Day or Revered Day). A day of celebration for Christians who opened their hearts and homes to neighbours and visitors regardless of their religious beliefs or station in life. It was an accepted practice of inclusivity.

Although we had fruit trees in the garden, in the month before, my mother would buy kilograms of best guavas from Allahabad. They came by train in a cane basket, buried in straw.  After all the preparation of peeling and coring the fruit, a huge cauldron of pink lava would bubble for hours, stirred constantly by a 3 ft wooden paddle while the cook dodged the angry splatter. When ready, the lava would be spread on to greased plates and allowed to cool, then cut into diamond shapes.  The end result was the delicious fudge, known as guava cheese, that never lasted long enough. The beautiful ruby jelly, made from the seeds and some pulp, was enjoyed at breakfast for several months. The making of the crispy kulkuls, fashioned in a similar way to gnocchi except it is a sweet pastry version, was an excuse for adults and children to sit in a circle and chatter.  The rich fruit cake, all homemade, and when complimented, mother would smile enigmatically, her recipe jealously guarded.  All joyfully prepared.  The ginger biscuits, nankhatai (a buttery shortbread biscuit with cinnamon and nutmeg), and yellow and pink ribbon cake came from Joe’s Bakery in Nagpur, my mother’s ancestral home. My mother made chocolates with green peppermint centres that were shared sparingly, as greedy children discreetly protested, one was never enough!

Gift giving was not the norm in later years but when I was younger, the thrill of yet another doll or tea set lasted the whole year.  Regardless of age, we were given one pair of new shoes, handmade by the Chinese shoemaker Ten Sing (who eventually migrated to Canada and did well there) and several sets of new clothing for the holiday season.  It was accepted practice to wear new outfits to every occasion in the days between Christmas and New Year.  And, there were plenty of occasions at the club and visiting friends and neighbours.  In the lead up to this, we poured over catalogues borrowed from our neighbour, Aunty E, for design ideas for our dresses. The two tailors in town, both Muslim, were in hot demand. One, “Fatty Tailor”, always over estimated how much material was needed and his Bebe and multitude of children were seen after Christmas sporting new clothing, in the same material as us! Santa arrived one evening at the club for the Children’s Christmas Party, wearing a plastic face. His presence in our life, was limited. At home, my mother gave new saris to the women and new shirts to the men who were our home help. There was always a steady stream of postmen who arrived for their annual tip.  Often, there were new faces in old uniforms!  But my parents’ generosity did not discriminate.  I still remember the joy of the practices that embodied the spirit of “Burra Din”.

My Christmas has not changed much. Our home is a hive of activity. I prefer to do the grocery shopping and cooking by myself. I shop with love. I cook with even more love. A laden table brings it’s own joy.  Each year I try my hand at new ways of including amuse bouche but the dessert of dried apricot ice cream is a must, much like the guava cheese from childhood.  I know from the aroma of apricots and Cointreau being cooked, it is Christmas Eve.  This is the year I discovered Pimms!  If I were to describe it in a word …. refreshing.  The perfect drink on a hot Christmas day.

Our main gift giving is the positive, loving presence in each other’s life during the year. We are reminded a Holy Family was created by the birth of a child. So I’m always grateful at this time of year to the children’s father, for the gift of motherhood and family.

I’ve learnt over the years, humble beginnings do not preclude being family, the brightest light in the darkest night is the star that shines above the place we call home, and that the softest warmth is in the breath of those who are loved by us, and love us in return.

And, so this was Christmas, until next year.  I hope your celebrations were as joyous as those in our home.

As always,

a dawn bird

It’s Christmas morning!  I have been up since before dawn planning the schedule for the day.  Although young adults, my children still look forward to the day with child like excitement, as do I.

This year it is dinner at my home.  My children are eating lunch elsewhere.  They promise to arrive hungry for their evening meal!  We have not had Christmas dinner at my home before so I’m excited about the table setting.  Tea lights, candles, fresh flowers, etc, etc.  It has also given me more hours to cook!

I first bought Christmas decorations in 1985 at Harrods when we were living in the UK for several months.  I still have them.  But, for some strange twist of fate we could not find them in the garage and I had to buy a new tree and decorations.  My young adults will squeal with delight when they walk in the front door, as they are not expecting to see a tree!  I feel blessed to have children who still delight in the ordinary.  It’s an important quality to nurture, I feel.

It has already warmed up.  I can hear my neighbours and their children splashing and laughing in the pool.  This is Christmas in Australia.

May your Christmas be a day filled with the love and laughter of family, friends and neighbours.

Peace.

As always,

a dawn bird

For some, the full moon is symbolic of becoming whole again. For some, it is a symbol of madness. I’ve known people in the mental health and emergency services swear they are busier, when there is a full moon.

From childhood I have always scanned the sky for the full moon.  In my new home I have woken at night only to find the kitchen flooded in light from the full moon outside the window.  Almost like a prop light.  Magical companionship!  The full moon, for me, is a symbol of oneness.  Of connectedness.

This picture was taken at Gantheaume Point in Broome on a night of celebration.  It was the night of the Floating Lanterns during the Shinju Matsuri Festival.  Originally the lighted lanterns were meant to honour the memory of those pearlers who were lost at sea.  Over time, it has become symbolic of peace.  Of friendship.  Of love.  Of gratitude.  It is a touching ceremony that takes place at dusk.

A non-swimmer I was too anxious to walk into the sea, so a stranger walked my lantern into deeper waters.  In the womblike embrace of warm briny waters, I was one with my parents.  I had come to honour their memory.  To farewell them.  But I was at their knee, a child again, learning.  I did so silently while watching the lantern silhouetted against fading light, until it blended with hundreds of other lanterns.  Soon all messages of peace, friendship, love and gratitude were one.  A collective message sent out to sea with hope it will return with the tides.

I turned around to walk to the shore and saw the moon.  It was one of those magic moments.  It illuminated the truth I needed to see.

I am who I am.

Until next time

As always,

a dawn bird

 

 

 

Many years ago I had a friend who travelled frequently.  I was curious how quickly he adapted to the places he visited for work.  The trick he shared was simple.  Create the familiar.  I’ve found this to be good advice.  Where ever I travel, I attempt to create the familiar.  My recent trip to the south west region of Western Australia was fraught with work and unresolved business.  So, I sought the familiar.  Surprisingly, I still find the familiar, novel.  There is so much about Mother Nature I don’t know.  For example, I thought spring time is when new birds hatch.  Now I understand some birds hatch young several times a year.

Seeking the familiar, early one morning I headed off to Big Swamp, in Bunbury.  The New Holland Honeyeaters, striking birds, with a ray of sunshine in their wings, were feeding or watching others feed.  I love these birds!  I spent an hour walking the boardwalk and footpaths when I saw, what I thought was a small banksia cone float by.    I zoomed in to find the Eurasian Coot had some new chicks.  So new, they were almost translucent.  I watched the mother herd them away from open water and towards the safety of the grassy overhang.  They were a complete surprise to see!  After a while I treaded lightly, searching for the Splendid Blue Wren that I had seen in this area before.  My efforts were futile this time.  I started to head to the car when I heard a tiny tweet, as imperceptible as practiced deceit.  The morning sun glinted on blue just for a second.  Deep in the thicket was the beautiful wren and female.  She is less flamboyant in dull grey and rust but her eye is a gorgeous pale blue.  Too quick for gazing, catching this on the camera was a delight!  They are exquisitely tiny birds.

The mother Willy Wagtail was comfortable in her beautifully constructed nest.  I have a special affinity with this bird.  A few years ago on a day when everything went wrong, I sat on my sofa, too paralysed with distress to move.  A Willy Wagtail never left my sight.  It came up to the door.  It flew up on the patio roof.  It looked at me with curiosity from the other side of the glass window.  But it never left my home  It kept me company all day. It was such a powerful companionship that I broke free from the inertia of distress.  Now, where ever I travel or when I bush walk, the first bird I see is the Willy Wagtail.  I may be biased but it has the sweetest call.  It reminds me I’m not alone.

I have taken the month off to get ready for the new year that promises to bring surprises and more travel.  Right now, I’m enjoying the familiar of home.  I don’t get to do this very much or very often.  Like the Willy Wagtail, I’m nesting for a while.

Until next time,

As always,

a dawn bird

 

It’s the first week of summer!

There was a time when I flinched at the thought. Heat, frenetic shoppers of junk impatient at check out queues and bad tempered drivers competing for limited parking bays, loomed larger than life. I have mellowed.

Despite the heat, summer means Christmas baking and cooking. Mango, melons, peaches, plums, grapes and berries flood weekend markets. Tomatoes are redder.  Cucumbers greener.  And, one of my favourite fruits, the cherries arrive mid December!  I’m headed to the Cherry Festival this year!  Best of all, the taste of fruit and vegetables is not dulled by cold storage.

Feeling comfortable in linen and bamboo clothing is a welcomed experience. Watering the garden by hand is a peaceful, mindful activity.

Morning arrives earlier. The sun, reluctant to set, leaves later. Walks along a frilled shore masks the intent of exercise.  Sea sounds are joyous when waves meet the shore.

But most of all, contemplative in the space where the year comes to an end, I am happy in memory and look forward to making new ones.

Until next time

As always,

a dawn bird

It is said, sailors regard the Welcome Swallow as a sign that land is nearby.  In other mythology, they are regarded as a symbol of plenty, of new life, signalling the drab of winter is over.  Spring is nigh.

I delight in these birds.  I usually see them near the waterfront in Bunbury, swooping low while they chase each other.  They are incredibly difficult to photograph at this time. They are so playful, rarely stopping.  I have dozens of blurred pictures of them!

Deep in reflection about various professional choices on offer, I headed to Big Swamp early one morning in Bunbury.  I needed comfort.  I needed the embrace of Mother Nature.  I was too early.  The birds had not yet awakened.

Then, in the silence of dawn I saw it.  Silent and still.  Facing the sun.  Basking in warmth.  Feet firmly planted on a steady surface.  Like me.

In a split second I knew what my choices for the next few years were going to be.

I believe I’ve had a fortunate life.  I’ve worked hard for all I have.  I have never been discontented, wanting more.  But, I have been given more.  As a gift.  The gift of courage.  It has allowed me to educate myself to a level I never thought possible.  It has allowed me to raise my children to love both parents.  Equally.  It has allowed me to walk away from plenty because I know I can live on less.  It has given me the wisdom to see I am good at some things but not others.  It has allowed me to love, to lose, and, remain whole.

So, silent and still.  Facing the sun.  Basking in warmth.  Feet firmly planted on steady ground.  I am set to fly.

May the universe give you wings too.

Until next time

As always

a dawn bird

About a week ago it was winter again in Esperance, Western Australia.  Storm clouds hung low and had everyone frustrated, Spring was short, much like youth.

A week later, Mother Nature has accelerated into summer. The jolt between seasons creates havoc and mayhem at night and leaves the sky bruised the next morning. The transition between black, indigo, purple, pink to shimmering pewter and gold is fleeting.  Like a heart that forgives quickly, so does the sky.

Forgiveness has its own language, its own vocabulary, its own perspective, its own meaning … to those who choose it.

I have often wondered why I find myself in situations where I am vulnerable and consequently, need to forgive people.  Why are some lessons harder to learn than others?  Is there a power higher than myself that feels I need more practice at forgiveness?  On reflection, I’ve come to my own conclusion.

Forgiveness is not an outcome. It is a place of renewal, a sanctuary, a place where you go to remember the good and the not-so-good. It is an opportunity to become new and whole again. It is a place where, once you ride out the pain, you can smile at yourself again.

Forgiveness is a gift of peace, to self.

Until next time

As always

a dawn bird

 

I was thrilled when I realised I would be in the Wheatbelt in Western Australia during the Super Moon.  The sky is big and often clear around this region.  Driving towards my destination, at dusk, I pulled over in a picnic area to take a picture of the moon over a paddock, only to find an elderly couple in a caravan were there first.  They were camped sipping tea, camera on tripod, waiting to be enchanted.

At night, I drove around looking for the best place to photograph the moon.  A risky thing to do as there is no street lighting on country roads.  Just the flash of eyes from kangaroo or fox or the blinding lights of a road train.

In a clear sky, the moon was a moon.  I hadn’t factored in the beautiful moon needed more.  It needed something else to add perspective.  My attempts were futile.  Now past ten pm, it was time to go back to my hotel.

I woke before dawn the next day and went looking again. This time there were some clouds floating by.  The moon was lower on the Western horizon, big and luminous.  It was the delight I was searching for the previous night.

The moon is often associated with fertility, life.  And her ocean lullaby of gently rocking tides from shore to shore, makes her Mother of all life on Earth.

Undaunted by a fierce sun, she is ever present in the sky.  She is a celestial watchful eye.

The moon is a reassurance, a silent promise, there will be another day.

I believe this.

Until next time

As always

a dawn bird

 

 

 

 

Friendship does not covert by stealth

does not exclude purposefully

is reciprocity.

Friendship does not seek to hurt and harm, intentionally.

Friendship is childlike,

a celebration of life.

In a moment of alone

Friendship is a gift,

offered spontaneously, generously

between a ‘you’ and a ‘me’.

May you find friendship, when you least expect it today.

As always

a dawn bird

 

 

I saw a sliver of luminous light,

from under a dark lashed eye.

I wished it open.

It did.

May your wishes come true, too.

Until next time

As always,

a dawn bird

 

Dragonflies are small. Dragonflies are strong. They can fly across oceans with wings of lace. Dragonflies are beautiful, even more so, after they morph into who they are meant to be.

Dragonflies represent life, prosperity, renewal, birth. They represent light. They represent strength. In the Japanese culture, they represent joy.

At the cusp of change and transformation with new experiences ahead of me, they represent joy for me too.

“I am with you”, “All is well”, “Be still and know I am God” are my favourite prayers.  I have relied heavily on these for years, but even more, this year.

The waiting is over.

With frayed wings, I have flown over an ocean.  Once again.

Until next time

As always

a dawn bird

When travelling, the last thing I do at night before sleep is to check the time for sunrise, then set my alarm five minutes earlier.

At Esperance Bay, like me, the seagulls and Pacific Gulls also sit and wait for dawn.  I am never disappointed.

As we head into summer the sun rises to the right of Frenchman’s Peak, some 40+ kms away across the water.  It always makes a stunning appearance.  It is a quiet time of day for me.  I like being alone at this hour.  I usually have company though.  Fishermen, joggers, people with dogs, lycra clad cyclists bent low over their prized bikes.  Each of us curious why the other is up so early.  Too precious to break the silence, “Good morning” is a subdued greeting.

I feel invincible at dawn.  I plan my day.  I plan my life.  I plan.  I plan.  I plan.  Then, I prioritise. Having a list of ‘Most Important Tasks’ is something I do first thing in the morning.  It is a chance to group my tasks and assign meaning to them.

I have been practising this strategy in my personal life as well.  A new dawn, is a new day, every day, in more ways than one.  Each day filled with possibilities.  Until recently my vision lacked clarity.  I can see now, this is the road I was meant to travel.

Having decided on what I want to do with the remaining work years and how to do it, opportunities seemingly flow towards me.  I have met like minded folks through the most extraordinary set of circumstances.  Some would claim this is the law of attraction.  I’m not sure how that concept works.  But, it seems to have worked for me.

I’m sure Esperance Bay was beautiful at dawn this morning.  I’m some 700+ kms north of it and, yet, it is just as beautiful here.  I woke to a bruised sky of purple, orange and pink.  The rainbow lorikeets are screeching in delight, the kookaburras have laughter gurgling in their throat, I can hear the whoosh of flapping wings of the big water birds as they head to the lake.  They are starting a new day.

So am I.

Until next time,

As always,

a dawn bird

In Australia we are officially one month away from summer.  There is confirmation of this in the garden.  The rainbow lorikeets have returned to nibble at the new leaves atop the trees.  I hear them at dusk.  They are noisy.  Having the garden to themselves, most of the time, they screech and look at me in the eye with curiosity.  I suspect these are young birds.  Their feathers shine and they look almost like ceramic ornaments in the tree.  The feathers are perfection.

At the front the passionfruit vine across the garage wall has spread, like loving arms wide open.  It is laden with buds.  Only two flowers have bloomed.  I’m learning about helping the pollination process that encourages flowers to fruit.  I feel there is something invasive about helping Mother Nature like this.  But, if I want fruit, the flowers need my help.  Where have all the bees gone?

Like a change in season, my life is in transition.  There are others who are giving me a helping hand.  They are reaching out to help me contribute the best way I can to the community.  This is team spirit in a larger sense.  After a phone interview last evening, I am being interviewed in person today for a much desired opportunity.  To find the team wants someone with my professional background, is a win win situation.

The advice I give my children when they have gone for an interview is consistent.  They may be good for the job, but it is critical the job has to be good for them.

The same applies to life.  To people.  To relationships.

Until next time,

As always,

a dawn bird 

 

 

 

 

This week Indians around the world will celebrate the festival of Diwali.  A festival that celebrates good over evil, light over darkness through lighting decorations and spectacular fireworks.

As a child growing up in India, Diwali was anticipated with delight.  Hundreds of earthenware saucers would be bought and the children would sit with adults in circles and roll wickers of cotton wool between their palms.  The saucers would be placed in decorative fashion around home, the wickers placed in them, and oil poured carefully to fill the saucers.  At dusk the wickers would be lit.  It cast a soft glow.  It was fairyland.  Then came the fireworks.  Huge explosions in the sky and the triangles that shot spouts of fire from ground level.  The strings of red ‘crackers’ that skidded around or leapt in the air.  The ‘bees’, tiny curled fireworks that buzzed unpredictably from the ground and into the sky.  (How did that ever pass the safety inspection!).  The nervous and raucous laughter of teens who loved the dance of danger.  People would be dressed in new clothing.  Homes would be thoroughly spring cleaned.  Strangers were welcomed by genteel hospitality.  Trays of sweets and goodies would be sent around the neighbourhood as a gesture of celebration and good will.  The premise being, the more you give, the more blessings you receive in return.  So largesse, was the order of the day.

Although my birth country may have changed now from when I left it, the memories remain and have shaped who I am today.

I believe in the bond of true friendship.  The kind that gives, more than it takes.  I believe when we engage with others this way, we celebrate life.  We celebrate being alive.

I have no fireworks or earthenware sauces to light today except the fireworks that Mother Nature has provided and the wish that your heart, home and life be lit with love, light and prosperity at Diwali.

I will light a tea light at dusk scented with essential oils of ‘Peace’.  When I do, I will think of you.

Until next time,

As always,

a dawn bird