The room, was a home.

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

Sunlight, in many forms

The plant, a yellow clivia, is an unexpected gift. I placed it in the foyer of my home. I wanted it to be the last thing I see when I leave and the first thing that greeted me on my return home. It brings sunlight into my day.

I have always loved brass and copper pot plant holders. I have run out of space in my home to show case them, so I have to stop buying them. Brass reminds me of my childhood.

The brass buttons on waiters’ clothing at our local military club, the local watering hole for the Army folks and their guests, is a fond memory.

I remember women placing brass containers on their head and carrying water home in those areas that had communal water sharing facilities. How heavy that would have been and yet they walked with poise!

The brass scoop that we used to pour water into our glasses was kept spanking clean by cook. In those days brass was kept shining by rubbing vigorously with ash from coal fire.

Yellow is synonymous with welcome, with sunlight, with warmth, with gold.

One of the sayings I love is “Silence is not always golden, it is sometimes yellow”.

May the sun shine on your day in many forms, as it did mine, today.

Until next time

As always

a dawn bird

In response to RPD – Monday – Brass


Silver eye, Bunbury Wetlands, Western Australia

I’ve returned home after a few days in the South West. No trip, of course, is complete until I visit the Bunbury wetlands if I’m in the town and I never tire of my experiences there.

One evening work finished a bit earlier than planned and I rushed to the wetlands with my camera just before dusk. I was alone there. Well, not quite. The air it would seem was alive with birds but I couldn’t see them. The tiny silver eye were there in flocks. My prayer each time I’m out with my camera is a simple one. “Show me something beautiful so I can share it with others”. I was not prepared for what was to follow …

I heard them before I saw them. The clickety clack of a bike on the wooden bridge alerted me someone was approaching. I stood behind a shrub and observed, friend or foe, the area being lonely before dusk. She was a young mother, slender as a reed, she parked her bike and lifted her blond haired boy from the seat to the ground. They came around the corner and saw me. They were as surprised to see someone there as I was. We made polite conversation, she being from further south and I, from the city, north of Bunbury. Knee high to me, he was silent as mother and I pointed to the invisible birds to share our delight with him. In a random moment, I got one photograph. “Ohh! look!” I exclaimed and shared with his mother. As we laughed at my fluke shot I remembered him at my knee. Silent and barefooted, his tiny pink toes, gripping the grey footpath, he waited patiently as adults talked and laughed above his head. His patience more impressive as he is not yet two. I bent down and showed him the photograph. His face lit up. He smiled. His chocolate brown eyes shone like stars. As I drew myself to stand up, he made eye contact with me and said, “More”.

I went back to my hotel knowing, prayers do get answered, so I share this story with you.

In response to RDP – Saturday – Eyes

Home, the sanctuary

Somewhere in the Midwest

Life has resumed, as I knew it once, or almost as. And if the social and travel restrictions have had an impact on me, it has only intensified my desire to travel and work. But there has been a shift.

As a child, as young as six, I knew I wanted to break free of cultural expectations imposed on me. I wanted that open road ahead of me where I made my own choices. That feeling is still fresh and alive. But it came at a cost. As I filled in my life with work and my own choices, it left little space for meaningful relationships. I regarded them as a roadblock to where I wanted to be, of course, despite the destination being unknown.

For nearly seven years I have lived out of a suitcase because of frequent travel and returning to a house that has been under constant renovation. Now I can see the end in sight. I have many people who have contributed to this and in many ways have rescued me from myself on some level. My lovely old builder who had my house keys for years and worked to my schedule and budget with utmost patience. The handyman who refuses to accept his fee whenever he visits and gives me a generous discount despite my protests. Oh! how he loves to tell me about his life and give me tips on Italian recipes and, being a former butcher, the best cuts of meat to buy! Then there’s the painter with the most amazing eye for detail and a passion for golf. Last week he left a speck of blood near the ceiling (some 15 ft high) but was determined to fix it. With the scaffolding gone, he left me holding the ladder while he hyperventilated his way to the top! Now the internal painting is nearly completed and the house indoors is taking shape. To live comfortably, I am culling ruthlessly. Keeping stuff for sentimental reasons is perhaps a developmental phase. We reach a certain point in our lives when discarding is healthy. With fewer memories to hoard, I find myself creating new spaces to live in. Life, not space, has become a sanctuary.

To have someone enter my chosen lifestyle not to take up space, but to create space for me, is a sense of elation I have not experienced in years. This morning I woke to a darkened home. Outside there was a patch of moonshine highlighting the beginnings of the ‘writing space’. A gift I will treasure because the creativity and thought that went into this. Labelling that area of the garden as my ‘writing space’ and creating it with that purpose in mind is perceptive and thoughtful. The ‘creator’ would have known I am not someone who relaxes with a magazine. I sit and write.

That open road now has a destination. I will no longer return to my house after each trip. I will return home.

May you find your journey today leads to your home of choice.

Until next time

As always

a dawn bird

In response to RDP – Tuesday – Rescue

When fuses are lit …

Full moon, Diggers Rest, Wyndham, Western Australia

Sexual attraction, that indefinable energy, that surfaces silently and generates a force of its own, and much like the moon, has the power to move oceans.

Does one normalize this clinically as a biological instinct?

Or does romanticize this as an unmissable magic carpet ride?

a dawn bird

In response to RDP – Friday – Normal

Out there


It’s been a long day today but made easier when a friend sent me texts and pictures of an area I visited for the first time, about two years ago.  I felt a pang of nostalgia for that harsh and stunning landscape.  Fortunately, I have a colleague who loves this kind of travel as much as I do and when offered work, we are always prepared to go the distance.  We both love the nothingness and fullness of the outback experience.  She and I were there for just a week but my friend’s swing is longer.  Long hours, heat and isolation takes a toll on folks.  I know from experience, unless one has experienced this, work and travel of this kind is difficult to explain to others.  It is emotionally, physically and psychologically taxing.  It brings out a curious dichotomy of vulnerability and strength in people.

I’m behind my work schedule tonight but wanted to reblog my post of that visit.  I have fond memories of that trip.  We were like excited school girls and it was a long hot drive.  I recall we drank litres of water but did not need a comfort break.  The heat was intense in November in country that is usually hot at any time of the year.

Oh! how I yearn to be out there again.

Until next time

As always

a dawn bird

In response to YDWord Prompt – Distance– 23 April 2020

See, with me

I’m not sure whether it is the case what the heart feels, the eye sees or vice versa.  Both are applicable to my experience of photography.  With camera in hand my world took on new meaning.  Solitary in my pursuits, it drew others in.  Nothing grounds me as much as the focus on photographing something that catches my eye.  When I see something I get a visceral response and photographing it just intensifies the experience of the moment.DSCN5254
West Beach, Esperance, Western Australia
The young fearless surfers at West Beach are a delight to photograph and one of my favourite places to visit in Esperance.  I love reflecting how analogous surfing is to life’s journey – the waiting, the patience, the moment of poise when you stand firm on fluid ground and let the wave bring you to shore.  And then … you go out to experience the same again.DSCN8464
One of my favourite native shrubs is grevillea.  The birds love it too.  To my eye they are perfection, each loop, part of the whole.DSCN9085Pelicans capture my heart as much as sea gulls.  Large and ungainly, I love how pelicans descend on water, with the grace of a perfect flight landing.DSCN8526
Town Beach, Exmouth Gulf, Western Australia
When I retire I want just enough money to enable me to travel to this beach on a regular basis.  Watching hues tint the sky, at sunrise or sunset, is like watching an artist at work.DSCN8709
Paraburdoo, Pilbara mining region, Western Australia
I love the mining regions of Western Australia.  The earth is a rich red, contrasting pale spinifex, ranges and the awesome landscape that demands one is still in it’s presence.thumb_IMG_5421_1024
My front garden is laden with roses at certain times of the year and at other times, there are roses.  After a rain shower, oh, the perfume!thumb_IMG_3600_1024
I use this cape gooseberry encased in the filigree paper like lantern as part of my meditation.  When I want to extinguish an undesired behaviour, I envisage new pathways emerging in the delicacy of my brain.thumb_IMG_3593_1024
Who can resist the attraction of unconditional love?  Not me!  This is the day Kovu became part of my son’s family and like a doting grandpawrent, I was there to document family history 🙂

Until next time

As always

a dawn bird

In response to RDP – Wednesday – Visual

With my game face on …

Ivanhoe Crossing, Kununurra, Kimberley region, Western Australia

The Ord River, lifeline of the fruit growing region in Kununurra where there are km after km of mango groves, is magnificent in full flow.  As I drove up here, some 8-10 kms out of Kununurra, I could hear the water but was unprepared to see the force of it.  There is a curved sealed low bridge road that one can drive across the river when it is not flooded and some do attempt to drive across when it is.  I’ve also seen folks fishing, standing in these waters where there are saltwater crocodiles.  On one trip there was a couple knee deep standing on the road and fishing off it.  He left his partner in the middle and walked toward us.  I asked him if he was local, he said no so we warned him about the crocs.  He glanced around and said, “haven’t seen any today”.  Such stupidity is breathtaking.  A few minutes later a couple of rangers came up to the site and directed the couple to another safer fishing spot.  The rangers just shook their heads while these folks packed up.  I’m not sure whether their casual attitude was stupidity or bravado.  I’ve photographed crocodiles in a croc park and they are lightening quick.  I managed to get some beautiful shots only because I was startled!

I’ve walked along here a few times and have been here on my own.  I just love it.  The birdlife here is pretty amazing.  Big water birds sail these waters with ease.  To be an observer of this force is a humbling experience.  Nature does this.  The added bonus is a mango farm on the way here that sells the most delicious mango ice cream and milkshakes.

Oh! I’m missing travel and being outdoors so very much!  My days are a roller coaster of emotions.  I feel vulnerable some days and others, stronger and resolved.  I question myself whether I could have appreciated my experiences more than I did.  Is it really possible?  Ever hopeful, I guess I’ll only know once I travel again.

I love the anonymity travel gives me.  I am often in small towns where no one knows my name and yet I have never felt lonely.  Here in the city, I am consumed by a sense of being alone, so I put my game face on and plod through another day.  I have always believed feeling lonely when in company, is a crushing feeling.  I find walking through supermarkets or shops an unnerving experience.  The automatic response of putting distance between folks is unsettling.  I have a massage several times a month.  I am an affectionate person with those I love so I have skin hunger like nothing I have experienced before!  When I’m home alone working I’m oblivious to it.  But if I go out and return home, it takes a while for me to settle into my skin so I plan each day, each week carefully.

During the day the sounds in my neighbourhood are a comfort.  Children practicing their piano or wind instrument.  The low hum of neighbours’ voices.  The hammering, the lawn mowing, dogs barking.  But the odd feeling of presence amid absence is disconcerting.  I feel a pang of guilt writing this post when there is such pain around the world but on second thoughts I felt it was important to look at the human experience of this at a subjective level.  If I cannot access this in myself, I know I will not be able to understand it in others.

I’ve decided to stagger whatever work that remains to be done to the home.  It feels good to have someone around.  I’ve found a good gardener who is enthusiastic about rejuvenating my garden.  Once it is established, I know it will be a healing space.  And, don’t we all need this?

Until next time

As always

a dawn bird

In response to RDP – Tuesday – Bravado


Rainbow lorikeet, in my garden

Being home has given me the opportunity to get my house and garden close enough to what I envisaged when I bought the property.  I’ve had time to build up my ‘little black book’ and struck gold.  I now have a small group of good tradesmen who are able to help me realise my dream.

With most of the internal building renovations done and just painting and window treatments left indoors, I’m enjoying moments in the garden trying to dream up a space that will keep me grounded.  I was toying with the idea of getting rid of the big mulberry tree.  I get barely a cup of fruit from lower branches and a laden, tall tree is tantalizing to others too, it would seem.  Sadly cockroaches love the fruit and when the fruiting season is done, they try and come indoors.  I abhor cockroaches enough to contemplate, for a brief moment, to cut down the tree.

Last evening at dusk I heard the rainbow lorikeets outside my study window.  They love the mulberry tree.  Then I remembered what a serendipitous moment feels like, and it made my heart beat to a new rhythm again.

a dawn bird

In response to RDP – Monday – Flutter

Finding nirvana

This morning I was up by four am.  With autumn chill in the air, I rugged up and enjoyed the silence.  I could not have been more at peace nor happier.  It took the birds another three hours before their birdsong filled the garden.  In the dark I reflected on my numerous trips and found myself smiling at the memories.  Although I’ve loved every moment of my work travel, I know the joy will be intensified when I return to these places.DSCN6508
Newman, Pilbara mining country, Western Australia
I took this picture a few years ago.  Although spring, it was hot.  It always is, up north.  I recall the sheer joy of acres of flowers.  The purple mulla mulla was blooming by the thousands.  And, those red Sturt Pea flowers, take my breath away every time I find a clump of them roadside.  In harsh mining country, the joy of finding fields of flowers, is a moment I know will experience again.DSC_0844
The simplicity of walking in seagull footsteps is something I will follow again in three words, sea, sky, solitary.  DSC_0828
I recall finding the most vivid coloured shells north of Broome in Lombadina, an isolated indigenous coastal community of the Bardi people (‘Salt Water People’).DSC_0823
Although I love collecting shells, somehow I could not bring myself to collect shells at this beach.  I had a deep sense they belong to the people that live here.DSC_0811
What was amazing, as my friend and I walked along the shore I thought I heard music, the kind one hears in Bali, not as sharp as the gamelan, but similar tinkling sounds.  We stopped and listened, puzzled, there was no one else within sight when we realised, as the tide swept out to sea, the music came from the water swishing through the thousands of shells.  It was a sound I have never heard before, or since.  Oh! how I wish I had taped it on my phone!  I’ve been to this beach a few times but never at a time when the tide is receding, so maybe this, too, will be on my list to do.DSC_0680
The Dinner Tree, Derby, Kimberley region, Western Australia
I have sat by the ‘Dinner Tree’ many times, an iconic historic spot in Derby, far north.  This is where the drovers would bring cattle along the flats, stop here for their dinner break before heading to the wharf beyond at Derby Jetty.  It is a beautiful boab tree.  The flats are expansive and the locals seem to use it to get to their fishing spot at the Jetty at sunset.  I’ve enjoyed quiet moments here and wondered how alive it would have been with the sounds of cattle and tired drovers, relieved to be resting after a day in Kimberley heat.

Life could not be more simple these days filled with chores and the trickle of work that comes in steadily.  The only travel I do is flicking through photographs.  There’s so much more to see and do and the impatient Aries in me has to be calmed, sometimes on an hourly basis.

Going through these photographs I found what I was searching for, my nirvana, that feeling of peace and happiness that comes from being at one with Nature.

It’s back to my reality for now.

As always

a dawn bird

In response to Your Daily Word Prompt – Attain – 19 April 2020

The Magic of Radio Ceylon

This morning I opened my emails to find another reminder from Spotify and soon after read Paesansunplugged (Punam) contribution to Napowrimo with the prompt ‘Forgotten Technology’.

The prompt took me back to the days of radio of my early childhood, when the only English music was available on Radio Ceylon  (now Sri Lanka).

As we waited in a hushed home the radio came alive, twice a day, morning and night.  Our lives revolved around that small box especially in teenage years, when after the BBC News, it was love requests for an hour with Elvis, The Beatles, The Rolling Stones and Peter, Paul and Mary.

But in the years before this, my father would tune the dial and navigate the crackle until he found Glenn Miller, Benny Goodman, Duke Ellington, Artie Shaw and with Begin the Beguine in his soul and invisible partner in arms, he’d sweep her across the floor in that imaginary ballroom land.

They would duck and dive as one, he then waited a moment, back arched, perfectly still
for her dress to stop swirling and as I caught my breath, he twirled his partner again
just to see my eyes sparkle when I smiled.

My father’s step was light as he went through the dance genres without missing a beat, and lightest when in his world he was Fred Astaire, Gene Kelly, dancer extraordinaire, but to a little girl who adored him, he was always her incomparable daddy.

I miss him.

a dawn bird

When hope illuminates


The flash flood of emotions seemed to disappear as quickly as they came.  First the shock of losing a significant part of one’s business, the grief of instant severance from teams without good bye, the discomfort and anxiety of uncertainty for the future.  It only took overnight for me to take charge.  I assessed my financial situation with the bank and my accountant and moved to the next phase of finding where I would start my new normal.  The statistics were low at that point with Western Australia having only 14 confirmed cases but the alarm grew with each passing hour.  While distracted by statistics I had to undertake training and demonstrate competencies in delivering my services remotely.  Then there were meetings with colleagues in a virtual office, each supporting others in finding this new path.  It was a valuable enough exercise for us to allocate time to do this each week.  Together, we were on the other side.

As with every peak there is a slide and it took me by surprise.  The emotion of guilt was pervasive for a few days.  I was able to get back on track and begin working again when so many have lost their businesses and livelihood.  All I have lost is money but for others, this public health catastrophe has touched their lives in unimaginable ways.  The saturation of statistics, each pebble with far reaching ripples of grief for so many overwhelmed me.  The sheer magnitude of the global situation and the nonsensical rhetoric of some world ‘leaders’ left me feeling helpless.  So I set about making changes in my own world.

I have written in another post about the time someone tried to break into my home.  In the decades that followed, I, unconsciously, started to collect stuff.  Everything had value because it ‘protected’ me in the home.  For example, for someone who was barely home one or two nights a week, to have a linen cupboard full of expensive linen should have been a red flag.  The countless vases when I cannot have fresh flowers in the home due to frequent travel, should have been another.  My home was not a hoarder’s home except for boxes in the corridors when it was being renovated.  But I did leave them there for longer than they should have been.  Every empty space had to be filled with something of value.  It was not the objects, but the thinking that was my ‘protection’.

Three weeks after the phone call that grounded me indefinitely I have found an  understanding.  What really matters in life is health and well being, being kind, being empathic, letting someone have the last can of tomatoes on the shelf because you know you already have one in your hand has new meaning these days.  Kindness highlights, less is more.  I can finally see a near empty garage.  Where folks cannot pick up the furniture I’m giving away, I’m arranging for a local handyman to do this.  It keeps him working too.  Very few belongings have the value they once did.  We ascribe value to objects in a subjective way and we devalue them subjectively too.  There is freedom in this thinking.

We may never fully grasp the enormity of what the world has experienced, continues to experience and will experience for a very long time, but we can experience hope for the future.  Nature shows us this.  It is after the fiercest bush fires that the most beautiful wild flowers bloom. I know this because I search and find them.

Much like nature, faith burns and blooms.  And as I experience the biggest faith challenge at this time, I dare to hope for the impossible that is inherent in the symbolism of Easter.  May you do, too.

As always

a dawn bird

In response to Word of the Day Challenge:  Disappear

Who’s space is this?


She is no bigger than three inches tall and I fell in love with the figurine as soon as I saw it.  She reminded me of my daughter when she was a toddler, always curious, always full of wonder, complete with Pebbles hairstyle.  I just had to buy it.  I found it the other day while decluttering.  I dusted it, reaching tiny spaces with a cotton bud, looked at it and wondered, can I reframe my thoughts of feeling trapped into a feeling of curiosity?

It did start that way but five days in, the idea started to get old, even though I am in my own space.  Trapped because I am only eight days into my self imposed isolation.  I wanted to experience what 14 days of isolation would feel like so I could understand how others feel.  It’s not a nice feeling but reframing constantly, this is an exercise of safety for self and others, brings some comfort and enhances resilience.

In the mornings I feel like I am an animal in the zoo.  The lorikeets watch me through the windows.  The Willy Wagtail goes through a couple of hours of agitation, chit chitting along the windows, and patio, peering at me and buzzing the glass.  I suspect a nest is being built in the mulberry tree.  I experienced the same territorial behaviour two years ago when the bird constantly buzzed me when I went out with laundry.  How tiny they are but at the moment, they are freer than me.  I feel a shift in power and tip toe around my home, making my movements small and slow in submission.

Space is meaningful to me in so many ways.  The space in one’s ‘head’ is specially interesting to me.  Sometimes we create our own zoo of thoughts.  We trap them.  We examine them like they were exotic.  Sometimes we yearn to domesticate them.  Or like the Willy Wagtail, we become territorial about them.  Some we set free and watch them soar, a feeling of relief, a feeling of letting go, like they were ours to set free.  They never were.  They set us free.

I’ve had an idea in my head and would love someone to paint or draw it for me, preferably with charcoal on white paper.  The concept is a simple one.  An open field.  A some visible fence posts.  A single, delicate, barbed wire hanging between the posts.  The art would be called Freedom.  When I think of this concept, I’ve often wondered, which side of the barbed wire do you have to be to experience freedom?

These days, I too am standing on my toes, filled with curiosity thinking about this.

Until next time

As always

a dawn bird

In response to Word of the Day Challenge – Zoo

Welcome home …

The colour of yellow is sometimes used to welcome loved ones home.  The colour has given me a new way of looking at current circumstances.

As a frequent traveller in this large State that covers a third of the continent, the whole of Western Australia has been my home for some years now.  Although my work continues with technology, I’m feeling the sudden cessation of being isolated from nature as I knew it.DSCN1041
Pacific gull, Esperance, Western Australia
In Esperance, south east of Perth, I would spend my three mornings a month at the Bay with birds, dolphins and seals.DSCN7915
Miner, Kununurra, Western Australia
In the far north, East Kimberley region, I was alone in Hidden Valley (Mirima National Park), just outside Kununurra one afternoon, enjoying a quiet moment in the car when this miner bird buzzed my car so aggressively I had to move.  It taught me to respect territory and space.DSCN3538
In the eastern Wheatbelt town of Merredin, my mornings were among the tall gum trees at a reserve where red tailed cockatoos were raucous enough to silence the usually vocal wattle bird.  The lesson here, perhaps, there are times for some to speak and others to listen.DSCN9954
From my Midwest hotel window I enjoyed my coffee with a white plumed honey eater with a delightful yolk yellow head.  I think this one was still a young one as it waited patiently for a feed to be brought to it.  Patience is key!DSCN8819
What I miss the most is the soft butter yellow spinifex of the Pilbara outback, where in the harshest environment, my heart is receptive and vulnerable.  That hasn’t changed.  I found I can also experience this in a city, encased in bricks and glass.thumb_IMG_1578_1024
Waking to the scent of frangipani outdoors on always warm mornings in the mining towns of the Pilbara, will be a memory.  The scent may fade, not the memory.thumb_IMG_0853_1024
One of the most rewarding aspects of my work is being with children.  This was outside a child care centre in the South West.  A Dummy Fairy Tree.  Children can always make us smile.  It is their gift.thumb_IMG_1652_1024
Although I’m not a cat person, I found this street art striking.  Not far from my neighbourhood, in the days leading to self-isolation a reminder, for a wanderer like me, the yellow brick does lead to home.thumb_IMG_1653_1024
Meal with loved ones, March 2020
Little did I know at my last meal with loved ones, what brought us together would lead to a new tyranny of distance, be it less than six feet or thousands of kms.

I am home.  And my wish for those who read this post, is the same.  May you feel you are home where ever you may be.  The world will still be there.  When we emerge we will see and experience it again.  We will gain new perspectives.  That’s a place to hope for, and anticipate.

Until next time

As always

a dawn bird

In response to Friendly Friday Photo Challenge – Yellow