River gum bark, Carnarvon, Western Australia
The river bed was empty
where rain had once been
when I crossed the dust
so my fingers could trace a memory
on your painted skin
And like the welcomed rain in drought
that perfumes the air we breathe
I wrapped my arms around you
whispered into a breeze
remember me always
and you did.
a dawn bird
In response to RDP – Thursday – Paint
I’m a few days behind this word prompt but nothing expresses my emotion more succinctly than the word anticipation when it comes to spring in my garden.
My backyard is set for a make over. It will be expensive so I’ve left it for last to be completed. The outdoor hot spa will be removed and replaced with a meditative space. For now, anticipation takes over the interim period. The honeyeaters, the Willy Wagtails and the rainbow lorikeets don’t know this as yet but the mulberry tree will remain.
My wish for you is that something that brings you joy returns to you today.
Until next time
As always
a dawn bird
In response to RDP – Friday – Anticipation
At first light
a soft cloud gave birth to a rainbow in the sky
the colours that emerged were vivid
but the momentum too weak
so the arc remained incomplete
I watched
my eyes fixed on a brilliant horizon
but the sky remained grey
Oh! how I willed it to stay
but the rainbow faded away
curled on a couch
sheltered from the rain
I reached
for the message deep within
an uneventful sky is blue,
some may say, boring, too
but like hope, a rainbow is born
when the seed of sun and rain unite
in the womb of a cloudy sky
to emerge with a sole purpose
to delight the eye
a dawn bird
In response to VJ’s Weekly Challenge #119: Soft
My wings are new
not yet spread
so I sit at the edge
where no day, no week
finds a space
inside my head
and when I fly
like I know I will
I’ll return
to this space,
this edge, again.
a dawnbird
I found Robin’s Breezes at Dawn on Eliza Waters’ post and thought I’d join in and share my side of the world for Walktober 2020.
Like many around the world, my work has been impacted by the pandemic and, although the regions I used to travel to regularly have been lost to budgetary cuts, I seem to be busier than usual trying to make up the shortfall. Having found someone special (Mr FIFO*) during this period of social restrictions (now that was a hidden bonus!), I realised I was out of sorts frequently, or at least, he drew my attention to this. It made me realise how vital it has become to my mental and physical well being to be in nature every day. So last Sunday I stopped all I was doing and spontaneously decided to visit our city park, Kings Park and Botanic Gardens in the centre of Perth, Western Australia.
Kings Park is large at just over 400 hectare overlooking the Swan River and city. It looks untended to the novice eye but there are grassed areas, botanical gardens and large areas of natural vegetation. When I got there, I realised most other people at home had the same idea of enjoying spring outdoors. I had to park my car a long distance from where I wanted to be and walked a good half an hour in warm sunshine to the trees.
I stood among the tangle of limbs and took a deep breath and let the trees exhale for me.
From above the skywalk my fingertips walked the length of the Rottnest Island tea tree below me.
And among the tall timber trees I looked up when a shadow flitted by.
A kookaburra, silent and watchful in the late afternoon.
I stood at this small pond and watched a honeyeater water bomb and catch tiny insects. I grew frustated at myself as I could not get the picture I wanted, so I put my camera away and just enjoyed the moment. Sometimes nature expects us to do this, I feel.
At the entrance to the banksia grove was a mural at my feet. I’ve learned from walking, there’s always something to see.
Hidden under large shrubs, the most delicate wax flowers.
Open vistas where en masse wildflowers were gorgeous.
And the delight no less in the tiny everlasting flower that stands alone.
Later that evening I was texting with Mr FIFO who was working very remote. After a period of texting he asks me if I’m sitting in my ‘reading room’. Why? I queried. He responded, “You seem calm and relaxed”. I told him I had been in the company of trees that afternoon. If ever I needed proof in the restorative power of nature, this was it.
May October take you to paths unknown and may you delight in the experience of returning to self.
Until next time
As always
a dawn bird
In response to Walktober
*FIFO (fly in, fly out) usually referred to workers in mining regions who come in to work and return home on rostered shifts.
In the Southern Hemisphere, yes, spring has arrived. The landscape and gardens have erupted like fireworks. There are families in parks and children’s laughter in the air. A joyous time!
Happy Sunday!
Until next time
As always
a dawn bird
In response to Word of the Day Challenge – Fireworks
My home is in a small pocket of the suburb. As you enter the area, a large roundabout that circles a pond, dominates. Circling the pond are poinciana trees that are gorgeous in bloom especially when the white heron perch on branches. The ducks are often here waddling across from the protected wetlands beyond the trees. To be part of this neighbourhood one knows this. We slow down. We urge others to slow down. It is a reflex. This area belongs to the wildlife here. Around spring time we are even slower. This year we were anxious. We hadn’t seen any ducklings. It was the talk of the party the other night. What happened to them this year? Perhaps, snakes had eaten the eggs some reflected. Then yesterday I drove in and saw a couple of children running excitedly towards the pond. I knew there was something to see. I parked my car and walked back.
There she was! Proud mum with seven ducklings in tow and in perfect formation. The leader established poll position.
The sun shimmered on the tiny specks of fluff.
These two were inseparable.
I listened to the laughter of the children, and through the prism of their smiles, we watched the arrival of new life.
May you be energised by new life where ever you may be.
Until next time
As always
a dawn bird
In response to RDP – Saturday – Prism
As someone who works in clinical settings, it astounds me how quickly children have adapted to the ‘new normal’. Coughing into their elbow comes with ease. Washing hands while singing ‘Happy Birthday’ three times, is the norm, even in the Ladies Toilet at airports, much to my amusement. Elbow bump is a hug. The chorus, “we are keeping our friends and ourselves safe” is common sense. This sign caught my eye. It doesn’t get any more Australian than this!
Today I read our Government is keeping the West Australian border closed possibly until April. Keeping the border closed seemed to have a lot of support. We are living with relatively less fear than in other parts of the country or world. The threat of a deadly virus has kept us alert and cautious. We are now into spring. Interestingly, I did not hear of anyone getting the flu over the winter. Perhaps the social distancing, wearing of masks in confined places and washing of hands, especially after coming home from the community has made the difference. Common sense that did not rob us of our freedom.
Watching world leaders exhibit such recklessness, one can only channel John McEnroe and say, “You can’t be serious man. You cannot be serious!”.
I’ve just returned after a short break. A mission to find myself, if you like. This morning I woke early and stayed in bed listening to the unmistakable sound of rain pelting outdoors. For a brief moment I was disappointed. I had planned on doing so much and knew the rain meant I have to change my day’s plans. Then I remembered the blessings of a spring shower which I’m sharing with you today as they all fit somewhere in the wide spaces of my heart.
May today’s rain bring you new growth, new life, new opportunities for transforming your life’s landscape, just like Nature does mine.
Until next time
As always
a dawn bird
Along the frothy coast
she beguiles
at the edge of a sea smile
a dawn bird
In response to RDP – Monday – Froth
I’ve been immersed in culling at home and just come across a story, a memory from my childhood, I had written down a long time ago. I read it and observed the child in me, the child who watched every thing around her. I realised, I am still that child today.
Eager feet race ahead of my thoughts, and out the backdoor towards the womb-like warmth of a world far from my own.
I break free from the rusty snags of the barbed wire fence, run back, kick the green gate that presumes to keep me safe, hear it creak shut and I am in the open field behind my home – the ownership of which is never questioned. It is my backyard, our backyard, belonging to us all … neighbours, drifters, pedlars, sheep, cows, stray dogs and water buffalo. I know every snake hole, every old and new cowpat, yet always virgin territory to this seven year old. I slip off my leather sandals and step mesmerised into the muddy swirls gifted by the monsoon rains. Across the gully are the mud homes, a neighbourhood hinged together like spare-ribs. Dusk does not hide the turmeric rivulets that had earlier streamed down like grief. The walls remain sullen. The homes all look alike but I know there is a different story behind each door. I wade across enjoying the sucking squelch between my pink brown toes as I lift each foot forward.
I scrape my dirty feet vigorously before entering the home. A habit. Bewildered eyes question my loud courtesy which has embarrassed me. It is just as muddy indoors. I skip in and in three steps I am in the kitchen inhaling the freshness of grass in the glowing dung chips. My eyes slowly adjust to the sepia glow. I look around the room, home to nine people. It, yet again, accommodates the tenth with the grace of a country manor. The torrential rain has left a mark indoors too. The interior walls mirror the exterior, the damp plaster shaved decoratively forms an abstract mural of yellow and grey. Ignored by all, a bundle of rags breathes noisily through a hookah. His opium-sodden authority permeates the room.
Squatting, crab like, I am seduced towards the open fire by smoke claws and join the chorus of dry coughs around it. I want to be closer to her. Her long black hair is coiled and rests comfortably on the nape of her neck. Her sari is old but clean, she has pleated and folded every ripped tear, with pride. She wafts coconut oil with every movement. Her skin, the colour of roasted hazelnuts. The tiny grimace at her consumed breast becomes agitated at the memory of succulence and she tries to comfort him. Two matched toddlers, her audience. The aroma of frying onions, chilli and green mango floods my mouth with the familiarity of piquant delight. Food to me more exotic than the usual Sunday roast chicken stuffed with bread, nuts and sultanas, which I know Cook has basted liberally with curses.
I watch as she slaps, bakes and then neatly stacks dry chappatis with ritualistic monotony. I am lulled by the comforting intimacy of her mothermovements. Does she know I am here, I wonder. My curiosity overwhelms me and I fracture her unspoken acceptance with small talk: “Is lunch ready?” She smiles unabashedly while stirring with increased vigour and flourish. I am convinced she is cooking for royalty. Wide gaps in her young mouth betray the despicable legacy of his opium-crave and her poverty. “Yes but only for the younger ones”. “What about the older children?” I ask with concern. She tries to soothe the child in me, a practice not new to her. “It’s not their turn today. They ate yesterday.”
I return home, older than when I left it.
May a memory today bring you closer to who you really are.
As always
a dawnbird
In response to Word of the Day Challenge – Watch
Centred
how green, my heart
forever young
a dawn bird
In response to Pic and a Word Challenge – Rosette
In response to RDP – Fernweh (farsickness)
Take a dream
make it come true
in thoughts, words,
and all that you do.
a dawnbird
In response to Word of the Day Challenge – Trust
I woke this morning
with a thought
held it captive in my heart
then bravely, set it free
wished it well
saying if we’re meant to be
you’ll return to me
by a dawnbird
I’ve been home for a few days and the urge to travel again is constant. It leaves me vulnerable to being impatient, and out of sorts. I have been yearning for the wide open spaces of rural Australia where the horizon is endless. The colours of the land, sea and sky, in a word, amazing. I yearn to wake to splendor. I yearn to wake to a new day. I find this so hard to experience in the city.
The months of June and July flew past. I was busy beyond words but energised. I spent most of my time in the Midwest outback and some of my time in the Southwest where winter had a cold and windy grip.
The beautiful Leaning Tree in Greenough lies in a paddock with grace. I stopped in homage to this magnificent tree.
The colours in downtown Geraldton are beautiful. Would you believe this was taken in the middle of winter?
We drove from Geraldton to Mt Magnet and got to The Granites just before dusk. We scrambled up the rock face to a landscape set aglow.
The contrast between colours of the earth and sky was breathtaking. This was a moment to sit quietly and exhale. So we did.
High above the tiny mining town of Yalgoo sits the Dominican St Hyacinth’s chapel in all it’s one room glory.
From the warmth of mining country to the timbered country of the South West, was a challenge. The drive to Collie from Bunbury was slow but beautiful.
I’m off again next week. Try stopping me!
Until next time
As always
a dawn bird
In response to Word of the Day Challenge – Unstoppable
A Shared Space 
You must be logged in to post a comment.