Curiosity
Anxiety Curiosity
My work consists of making sense of what I see and what I hear. Photography has fine tuned my skills in an unexpected way. It helps me stay in the moment. Once uploaded, I reflect.
My style of working with people has evolved and moving more towards what I trained in recently. I attended a very useful professional development event and took part in an exercise. The exercise was a simple one for a complex problem. It resembled something a magician would do where the routine would go, “Think of a number ….” and the magician comes up with the right answer at the end of it. This had a twist. One person thought of the problem and the other did not know what it was. By the end of the routine, through the right line of questioning, the person with the problem had solved it on their own. That’s the hallmark of a good therapist.
My father went to university but not my mother. They did not travel the world. But they had wisdom that is still relevant. One of their favourite sayings, “a little bit of knowledge, is a dangerous thing”, is something I find useful every day. My children’s father had something similar to say during my early years at university, “If you are going to work with people, know your stuff!” It is advice I pass on to our son. In a world of information (and misinformation), I always find it useful to ask people, “What do you think is happening?” It defines the map of their journey taken and the one we will take together.
Unless you are trained in what to look for, looking in is subjective and ill-informed. Without knowing history, one can misread social cues and behaviour. As Thomas Szasz puts it, “… there is only biography and autobiography”.
A good listener, knows this.
Until next time
As always
a dawn bird
I once saw one in the wild. No, I tell a lie. It was on the tree right in front of me. My companion saw it and tried to explain where it was. After a good half an hour, I pretended like I saw it. (A moment similar to the one where Rachel in Friends pretends she can see her baby in the sonagram!). I was too embarrassed to tell him, I. JUST. COULD. NOT. SEE. IT. (And, I was the one with the zoom!).
At the base of the massive boab tree was the tiny chick she so desperately tried to protect. If you look closely you can barely see it at the juncture of the base and the longest root that extends from it (to the left of the screen).
So young, it still had feathers on the crown and eyes that were barely open. In a park where dogs and children played with careless abandon, the vulnerability of the chick, fired my up protective instinct too.
The chick relaxed and stared at me with curiosity.
The mother did the same, no longer flapping her wings furiously. She flew away time and again, returning with a morsel each time. She fed her chick with utmost patience.
I stood guard until the park was nearly empty. The protective instinct of the mother was memorable. No longer anxious, the mother and chick relaxed into their respective roles of nurturer and one being nurtured. The impact of trauma on a developing brain is well documented, especially for learning, emotional regulation and attachment issues. It came together for me in one fleeting moment.
The gull stood still and watched the tide come in. From the road above, I did the same.
Then the gull then strode out purposefully to meet it.
It seemed to know where to stop. 
It stood still and waited.
The tide came in with bounty. The Pacific Gull knew this. This was time honoured instinct. Honed and practiced. No technology to guide it. It was a beautiful thing to observe. A moment of mind-body connection, for gull, and me.
This is Esperance Bay at first light. The winter sun rises further left in the Eastern sky. It spreads the softest light, before it rises. Some people do this in life too.
My favourite spot to have my first coffee of the day is the end of the groyne. Sometimes the dolphins visit to keep company. 
I then head to West Beach to catch the glow of sunrise in the softest pinks, blues and greys.
If I meet my target for the day, I know I’ll find these folks too. Nothing keeps them from catching a set, except maybe a shark warning. Yes, maybe.
Surfers seem to sense the potential in an opportunity and go for it even if it is a short ride. They may not know this or see it as such, but each decision they make is a goal. Enjoy the ride.
And Woody Lake is where I sit and consolidate my day. The solitude gives me vantage point. It is where everything comes together in a moment of quiet. My vision, enhanced with clarity.
In my garden a lone purple rose is blooming. The bees are having a pollen spa. They are fascinating to watch.
In the backyard the rainbow lorikeet added colour to any otherwise ordinary day.
I’m dreaming of far away places, like Broome. Time to go there.
But for now, I’m off to Esperance again. It promises to be cold, wet and windy. But always beautiful, even if the only light is an (unknown) berry in the garden, that glows.
Roadside in Balingup where wild freesias grow.
Then there’s Donnybrook. Known for apples and orchards. I have to spend a few days here and so looking forward to it.
On the way to Margaret River, our premier wine country, I’m looking forward to a walk along Geographe Bay. I’ve walked the 1.8 km Busselton Jetty and this time, weather permitting, visiting the underwater viewing area is on my list.
I always love Margaret River in winter. A chalet, good cheese, a good red, blanket and book fireside, and I’m happy. Of course, there’s also the added attraction of tiny wrens!
I’m hoping to find some time to walk in the Perth Hills. I’m not sure what’s blooming at this time of year. I’m never home to find out! This picture and the next were taken in spring.
I know the coming weeks will bring moments of sheer joy.
I watched sunrise from bed. The sun appeared, a bleary eye, and then disappeared, like the town beneath it in the distance. Oh! well! I better pack and try and head off home cautiously, I thought. I did just that.
I got out of my car to all that I wanted in that moment.
I found colour and life.
Refreshed by rain, the greens and greys of the bush were vivid. I was greedy and gulped the pristine air.
On prostrate scrub there were splashes of white, pale pink and peach.
At the cusp of winter, a hint of spring.
It’s difficult to see but this track sparkled like a carpet of a million diamonds. I’ve never seen anything quite like it!
I took it all in. What falls away, makes it autumn. Then comes spring. So in life, too.
Deep in thought I was startled by a rustle behind me. I turned around and caught this mother kangaroo in mid hop.
She led her joey to feeding. I was transfixed.
The joey was curious about me.
Oh! those eyes and beautiful velvet ears!
The red breasted robin hopped around me, then perched on a branch for a perfect picture.
While Mrs red breasted robin watched his vanity.
Just outside Geraldton, Western Australia is Greenough, famous for historic buildings and the iconic Leaning Tree.
The snowdrops in my garden first appear in August. The anniversary of my father’s passing. Far from saddening me, the flower, like memories of him, delights the heart.
My father was my David Attenborough. He showed me the wonders of the world in words and books. Through his eyes I see softness in ranges and know Nature’s hand can shape and smooth the most difficult terrain.
Jostled in the air, I have learnt to focus on the sun ray bursting through a storm.
I know no fear travelling in desolate outback. I’ve come to learn, there is beauty in the barren. There is peace in void.
My steps are measured and mindful because I know there’s more to experience in the journey between A to Z.
A Shared Space 
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