Before I logged off for the night, I scrolled through my recent photographs, partly because it is raining hard in short bursts and I wanted some memories of warmth.
The photographs I looked at have a special place in my heart. The landscape is as close as the landscape of childhood.
This is Cockatoo Creek. It lies below the highway between Broome and Derby. Bridges in this region often allow one way traffic only. Cars have to stop to let oncoming vehicles pass. This is especially daunting when halfway across the bridge, one sees a road train approach!
The Kimberley region had record rainfall last monsoon, so there was plenty of water and billabongs to see. I have never seen this creek so flooded as I did this trip. It was brimming with bird life and wildlife, too.
This is cattle country in the Kimberley region. Huge landscape, bigger cattle stations and dangerous roads where cattle roam freely. At 110 km/hour speed limit, they are a hazard for the novice driver.
A friendly “take care” from the car hire people is usually a good natured warning, “watch out for cattle”.
I particularly love the Brahman cattle. This picture speaks of home to me.
Juxtaposed with the bird life of the Kimberley, cormorants, glossy ibis and the gorgeous brolga, there’s a certain incongruity here. I always feel like I’m straddling two cultures. Ask me which one I love more and I’d never be able to give you an answer.
The brolga is one of my favourite birds. They are large and elegant in movement and flight. To see them dance is unforgettable. Oh! the elegance of each stride!
This time there was even a freshie (freshwater crocodile) or two. The excitement this caused! We nearly stepped backwards on to the highway, much to the annoyance of passing traffic who tooted at us impatiently.
Where does my love for all this come from? It had to be from my godfather, my mother’s older brother. He was one of five sons. I’ve written about my mother’s family previously so I won’t repeat the family history again but I will share more about my godfather. He was our hero in more ways than one.
My godfather never worked in a paid job as far as I’m aware! He managed to live life on his terms supported by a legacy. The only job he had in his youth was being called by the government to shoot and kill marauding tigers and panthers that terrorised villagers. At Christmas my mother’s extended family would meet in the sprawling ancestral home. At night we, the multitude of cousins, would sleep dormitory style in the great lounge room that we called The Hall. He would turn off the lights and start telling us stories of his youth. The murmur of aunts and uncles in the adjacent room added to the tension of trying to hear him. He would start by speaking softly, as he stalked that tiger or panther until he had it in his sights. We would wait to hear the sound effects of his loaded gun as he took aim. He would shush us, oh so softly. We dared not breathe. Then BANG! We screamed in unison and sheer terror. We drowned out the protests and reprimands of the other adults, while he laughed heartily with us as we pleaded, “tell us another story, pleeeeze!”
My godfather married very late in life. In his 60s I think. When younger he had a mad crush on a nun. I can’t remember her name but can see her face so clearly. She was Anglo Indian. Her modest habit covered her blond hair but heightened the blue of her eyes. She ran a local clinic. My godfather, of course, found himself suffering from every ailment known and unknown to mankind! But, she was committed to her vocation. He never had a prayer.
Family memories are precious. Like all good things, they are meant to be shared. So I thought I’d share my yarn with you.
Until next time
As always
a dawn bird
But I love to find the solitary one, like this one, pale ice cream pink.
Some so tiny, they make sand and pebbles seem large.
I love the incongruity of delicate flowers growing among thicket.
While huge sprawling bushes have prongs of flowers that reach out.
I’m not sure what these were, but they were striking among the greenery.
There were swatches of these yellow flowers but it’s easy to see why these two caught my eye.
I stopped my car on the way home for one last picture of the fields of fluro yellow canola that splashed colour, as far as the eye could see.
This is Kovu. He is a chocolate labrador. To say we are all smitten is putting it mildly. I could not get enough photographs!
We squealed in whispers. “Oh! look at those soft ears!”, “What big paws he has for a pup!”, “Oh, look, he just turned over!”. Everything about him was a magic moment.
There is nothing more Kimberley than a landscape of red dust, blue sky and soft, grey-green foliage. To me, these are roads that lead to somewhere special. Always.
The walk to the beach has a warning about crocodiles, so this is not water one enters to swim, but it is beautiful to observe.
The mangroves have the most interesting rocks and stones among the shells. There is no noise here except the call of birds. The sea, it would seem, is also silenced by the beauty of the landscape that it shapes.
I’ve photographed this region before but did not know the importance of what I had seen. My new travelling companion was more knowledgeable and filled me in on the aboriginal history of the region. 
My companion exclaimed excitedly, “Oh! look! shell middens!” I had no idea what middens meant and it was explained to me, this is an area where ancient people lived or stopped for a while. The shells evidence of their presence, long, long ago. 
There were thousands and thousands of shells, bone white in the blazing sun. Ordinarily I would have picked up one or two to bring home. Not this time. I felt I was in the most expensive art gallery and dared not move, in case I broke or moved something special. So we stood for a few moments, in silent respect.
A cloudless sky
A blue rimmed eye
A feathered wing
An open sea, where mermaids sing
The blue of Cable Beach with its white frilly shore
Cowboys in blue jeans, at the rodeo.
The thrill of the gate opening!
The roar as the bull charged.
I loved how the light and dust moved!
This was magic town.
The teens were just as brave as they hung on as long as they could.
The bulls were fiesty, and after dislodging rider, came straight for the stands, snorting and grunting.
There were times the bull kicked up heels, free of rider.
An exceptional young indigenous man, who punched the air in victory, was clearly a crowd favourite. His self-esteem glowed at dusk.
Soon the light faded, but I doubt, my memory will.
On a beach that stretches for 22 kms, I peered through tiny coral windows and found life in minutae is what has added zest to my journey.
I contemplated the fragility of life and the glue that holds it all together.
I reflected on the foundations and layers we create within us, between us and for each other. Do they support or divide?
I found things that spoke to me. Much like life, debris was once perfect and whole and …
still exquisitely beautiful.
We are given life. But … it is a finite serve.
I paused to reflect. What’s my footprint, my legacy, that I leave on shore?
The glory of sunset at Cable Beach is seductive. It is promoted as such and people come to catch their breath.
But I also know the young boab tree at Town Beach, the opposite side of town at Roebuck Bay, is magnificent at sunrise. So in Broome I catch my breath, at least twice a day.
The canola fields are turning gold in the farming Midwest.
This picture captures the colours of the Midwest, so perfectly, from the ground. 
There are expanses of these low growing shrubs, encrusted with tiny flowers growing in the bush.
Beautiful spears of flowers everywhere one looks. 
In this land even a common weed looks beautiful!
There are huge swatches of paper everlasting flowers. Just breathtaking!
Seeing them up close, is seeing perfection.
These purple flowers are scattered among the pinks and whites.
In my garden the bees are busy.
And, roses continue to bloom.
I went where I had lunch one afternoon. There’s a cafe to the right of this with beautiful views over water. But no, I wanted to be in the scrub! To my delight the place was teeming with birds. I know them well enough by the call.
I found a tiny male zebra finch with wisdom in his eyes.
Then there was the female finch. She flew up, caught the blade of grass in her beak and slid down, showering grass seeds on the ground. She then fed in privacy in the tall grass. Clever!
Ever watchful, high in thick scrub, were a pair of rainbow bee eaters. Aloof, silent, predatory.
The yellow honey eaters, feasted on flowers, their maniacal laughter-like call, harsh, for such a pretty bird.
With ‘lipsticked lips’ pursed tightly shut, the Pacific Gull was dignified in defeat as silver sea gulls stole lunch and flew away screeching. 
The Brahminy kite (I think), from the highest vantage point, watched all, then flew away silently.
These tiny everlastings were flowers within flowers. Thousands of these roadside.
I thought they were exquisite.
This was a tiny flower. The sand gives some perspective to the size.
Then there were succulents.
Were these past their prime? Still beautiful, I thought.
And carpets of these succulents, too, along the sand hills, ocean side.
The wattle has a distinctive perfume. Like, honey.
Vivid colours in harsh country.
There were thousands of these along the coast too.
This was one of my favourites. There were carpets of these, yes, acres of flowers, but this one caught my eye. It seemed to support a whole colony.
The sun broke through, as it always does, just beyond the Small Boat Harbour, (Carnarvon).
I delighted in the superb drama happening over this little town, quelling my fears of flying home through this and then to weather that was worse in Perth. The flight back was surprisingly calm in the small plane. But there was silence among the 34 passengers when the pilot announced we were going to land in poor weather in 60 km/hour high winds. I know what 28 km/hour winds during landing feels like in this plane. But 60! I closed my eyes and visualized all good things in my life. I found it was not a difficult thing to do. Half an hour from landing I clutched the seat tighter and tighter, while we bounced and rattled. We landed with an almighty thud and a deafening whoomf. Then came the short dash from aircraft to terminal. As soon as we stepped off the plane, it hailed. (Yes, it hurts when it hits one’s face!).
This is the main street. Yes, that’s it folks! Finding a parking spot is always a cinch!
I remember seeing this male zebra finch in the scrub while driving 80 km/hr. My ability to see birds in unexpected places, still amazes me! But like I’ve said before, if you look for it, you find it.
The skies here are awesome. During a storm or …
on a clear day, as Barbra sang, “you can see forever”.
I found this outside the public toilets at Pelican Point, a favourite place for locals to do a bit of kite surfing. It always makes me smile!
A Shared Space 
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