There is nothing more disconcerting that watching yourself in someone’s eyes and seeing what they perceive you to be. The silent judgement is deafening. The noise can extinguish life, as you breathe. Not today, though.
I woke this morning with one thought. Who I am today, is who I am. In an instant, I was in the present. Unshackled from the past, I was free. The moment felt delicious. So I lingered and savoured it all day.
I realised there were so many things I could do today because I was me. The thought gave me wings! Oh! the freedom!
I switched off the phone. Made a list. Crossed off tasks completed. I closed doors. I opened windows. I let in cool, fresh air. I gathered up the last of the roses. I took out garbage and set it kerbside. I wrote. I read. I listened.
I reflected on those who have crossed my path in less than positive ways. How lucky I am today to be me! I did not have to dig deep to forgive them. What I let go, I gained immeasurably. The thought, a gift to me.
I cleared shelves of unwanted objects. I did the same with thoughts. Then refilled the empty recesses with the joy, I had the freedom to be me today.
I realised my presence is transient like the tide. My shadow will always be taller than me. I know today what I lack in presence, I make up in substance. I am strong and resilient. I am me.
As my day ends I know the best gift I have received today, is the ability to accept the authentic me.
Until next time
As always
a dawn bird
I watched dawn break and fretted about the clouds. The small plane would have to punch through these, the thought making me feel sicker than I had been.
As the sun broke through, I saw a line of birds above.
On one side were the Cape Barren Geese, large, ungainly birds on ground, but graceful in flight.
Dozens on ibis, untidy in formation, also headed somewhere else. (I obviously need more practice with my new camera!).
Far across the Lake, on my right, was a flotilla of pelicans, dozens of them. On my left, a solitary white heron, posture perfect, even when alone.
Thinking that was my quota for the day, I started to drive out of the reserve slowly when I saw it, sitting all plumped up, large as a hen, a common bronze wing pigeon.
Preening, pretty as a peacock, in an unguarded moment, challenging the notion of “common”.
Near my car, a silver eye feeding. Usually they swarm in small groups but this one was alone.
Eye to eye. For a moment, it was heaven, right here on earth.
Well, not quite! The noisy wattle bird, now silent, was within reach. Keeping my movements small, I put the sandwich down and picked up my camera.
Emboldened by the quiet, the bird started to feed. They are a joy to watch.
The wattle bird has ordinary plumage, and blends into the scrub with ease. But I look for the distinctive vivid yellow belly, when I find them, nestled deep in foliage.
The wattle bird is fascinating to watch when it feeds, with the delicate red wattles dangling on either side of the head. What is sacrifices in an unattractive metallic cackle call, it makes up in elegance.
When the wattle bird left to feed elsewhere, I found an acacia, the tiny flower, bright as a spotlight. It shone a light on a simple truth.
Not far away from my car, was a Western Grey kangaroo and joey. Aren’t they perfect in the bush!
These looked different to the ones in Esperance.
The eyes, large and luminous.
Was that curiosity or a ‘don’t mess with me’ look? This one was huge, the stance looked threatening.
With another joey, much paler than the other one, they were eight in the mob. They stared at me in silence. Oh! I wished my heart didn’t beat so loud!
When I’m in Esperance, now my second home, I wake early to catch sunrise at the Bay. I’m yet to see a repeat light show, as the one I saw that day.
I then head to Woody Lake where the white faced heron is perfect in silhouette.
In my garden, I breathe deeply. The roses are there to remind me. Life is sweet.
I’m not big on garden ornaments, but I love this one. My son used to sleep this way in infancy. He says it was a reflection of inherited work ethic. Head down, bum up!
This elegant statue I bought in Kalgoorlie. It is placed under the jasmine shrub. She waits for it to bloom. Waiting is good, sometimes.
I bought these rocks to remind me each day how uncomplicated life can be. Why make it anything else?
There would have been a time in my life when I have would turned tail and run, confronted. Not this morning. I felt I had the best company. The yellow throated miner bird sat still and silent. Reflective, like me.
My galleries and museums are now different. I look. Touch. Feel. Sniff. And taste the salt on my lips, and occasionally, cheeks. Yes, the galleries and museums are more interactive. I immerse myself. I don’t want to miss a moment of the experience.
These were embedded in rock. Immovable despite the power of the sea.
The tell tale signs of seagull that raided the turtle’s nest along the shore. What is food to one, is death to another. The cycle of life.
when I drove through a weather cell in the Wheatbelt, frightened out of my wits, the huge road train turned into a road angel that afternoon and illuminated the instant dark. I found silence and calm in a paddock, some 85 kms down the road.
About my work in Moora where I go looking for the butterflies in the garden of my hotel. She looked at the picture and said drily. “It’s just a monarch!” There was a slight thaw around her mouth when I said, “yes, wearing polkas!”
I told her about my work in Bunbury where I found the ocean turns pink at dawn.
And about the bees among the prickly dryandra in Narrogin, that look like a long eared bunny, close up.
About the filigree found in leaves that remind me of the silver jewellery gypsies wear in Rajasthan.
And the single, plain leaf in the sand that caught my eye even when there was so much more to see.
How the honeyeater’s song in the Goldfields helped me discover ….
among the tangles, there’s simple beauty.
How the flowers don’t all burst into bloom at once. Maybe Nature sets a pace to slow us down. Wait and see.
I told her about the seagull with the broken foot that probably landed too hard at Walyalup Rocks, but can still fly.
And about that time when locals in Bunbury asked each other if they saw the sunset the previous night.
The greenest growth is at the point of pruning.
Solitary can be a powerful statement.
I no longer look for permanence. Transience is appealing to me. What ebbs and flows, like the breath of life, is a gift. We see this in tides, sometimes shells, sometimes, a forest of boab trees in the sand. 
I also know a boab tree is strong, and will wait like a friend, withstanding tide and time.
At my leisure I read sea stories of ancient times, carved in stone.
I’ve learned lessons from migratory birds in flight. And, like them, I now travel light.
Cauterised, I now watch the tide soothe ruffled edges, as the pindan cliffs bleed into the sea.
My eyes scan roadside for three eyed monsters. They help reconnect to the child in me.
A red eye, is a ruby.
A ball of ruffled vivid feathers is gorgeous, but …
A single white feather, is peace.
The Willie Wagtail is always great company.
The cape gooseberry bush has one or two lanterns at the moment. I’m not sure if it is the right time for it to fruit. My mother used to make the best gooseberry jam. The taste of fresh fruit is an indelible memory, so I eye it with anticipation.
The last of the autumn roses have found a space to peek through the fence. 
Although autumn is soon claiming them …
there’s still some summer left in leaves.
I’ve come to learn, when there are no roses, leaves and raindrops will do.
And, who knew that plain old snail, lived under a gilded roof.
Emus rule here. On wide empty streets, they slow you down. They are the traffic jam. The speed bump. I love them! Once at the local school, I even saw one checking out the children’s backpacks that were left outside class!
The sun rises over water here. And, as is true anywhere in the world, each day is always different.
Did I love the vivid colours of one day or the beautiful serene pewter shine, the next? I really cannot say. Both were equally breathtaking.
I love visiting Pebble Beach. The rocks come from the escarpment on the other side. The sea brings them in, and leaves them polished, and smooth. 
For me, these are the pearls of the sea. They are old. Smooth. Tactile. Melded. You feel the story in one’s hand.
This time I visited Jurabi Point Beach.
Was it worth it?
You bet!
Among the pebbles, knowing they are there, I always search for heart shaped stones. Why does the sea shape them so?
This one is for meditation. When adrift rudderless, at sea, it is a reminder. Like the tide, one always returns to shore.
The tiny Bolivian yellow squirrel monkeys were a delight. 
They clung to each other, surprised by early morning humans.
Oh! look at those fingers!
Another, poised, before jump.
Because you know me best, through my imagery and words.
A Shared Space 
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