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It was an impulsive decision about six months ago to make today happen.  The feeling of unclipping away from the harness of life as I know it, was intense.  I felt it.  A moment of release.  I had to respond to it.  The day is here.

I’m off to the northern part of Western Australia to beautiful Broome and beyond.  I think I’ve spent more money on my gear than the holiday itself!  As I prepared for today I realised I had never visited a camping store before but have found enjoyment in browsing through BCF (Boat, Camping and Fishing) shops, Anaconda and Kathmandu.  Who knew hiking boots were so expensive!  My toiletry bag has the bare essentials.  My suitcase even lighter.  A pair of ear rings. Jeans.  Good quality cotton tee shirts.  Lots of sunscreen and insect repellant.  Band aids.  A hat.  I’m good to go.  Actually, I have been since February!

Broome has a sensibility about it that is difficult to describe.  You just have to experience it and people experience it differently.  It resonates on a spiritual level for me.  I’ve made huge decisions here about my career and consequently, my life.  I’m not sure if the boab trees will be in bloom at this time of the year.  I do love them.  Each has character and is unique.  One of my favourite places to watch sunrise is over Roebuck Bay at Town Beach in Broome.  I’ve taken scores of pictures of this boab tree and the nuance of the moment is always different.

This time I’m going further north than I have ever been.  It is regarded as the outback.  The thought of those wide open spaces makes my heart race.  The landscape is magnificent.  And, there are tiny things that tug at one’s heartstrings, too.

I have been unwell for the week in the lead up to today.  I’ve had to cancel work commitments and stay in bed.  It has given me time to stop and reflect.  What do I want from life?  The answer is simple.  I want balance.

Decision made, I’m off to enjoy the most amazing experience of my life and will be back in a couple of weeks.  I have limited to no access to technology where I am going.  No white noise!  I know I will enjoy the silence.  I’m off to find balance.

Until then

As always,

a dawn bird

 

When I arrived home after a long trip I found a text from my son inviting me to lunch.  I try not to refuse any request to join my children for a meal.  It seems to be the only quality time we get together.  Tired and unwell as I felt, I went off to meet him.

Over a beautiful Thai meal my son discloses how stressed he is feeling.  He is a manager of a retail shop and is busy with pre stocktaking KPIs as well as trying to manage his university commitments.  He has just moved houses and trying to pay the bills associated with that.  He’s due to go on a conference too which will limit his earning capacity for a few days.  It all seems too much for him.  We talked through this pressure time.  It’s the eye of the storm, I tell him.  This, too, will pass.  A burden is only a burden is it is carried alone.  We talked about who could step in to help him with of the practical issues he was confronted with.  Problem solving made easy.  He hugged me after lunch and told me he felt better after catching up with me.  The hug was a reassurance, for me, and him.

I told my son about the storm cell I went through last week.  The weather report stated a thunderstorm in the Wheatbelt.  As with weather reports, one dismisses it as a bit of rain, noise and drama especially as I left Perth with blue skies and the warmth that comes from 27 degree celsius.

Just after Cunderdin I noticed a band of black in the far distance.  Too far away to be worried by it but delighted in the rainbows that flicked through dappled light.  Then, without warning, it hit.  At 4 pm it was darker than midnight.  The noise was deafening.  The rain was a waterfall.  Thunder made my teeth rattle.  Lightening danced and bounced across the paddocks in long golden streams.  I noticed 4WDs pulled off the road.  Unable to see, even with high beams, I dared not follow them.  I feared getting bogged in a ditch.  The only object that gave any comfort was a huge road train ahead of me.  Large and as lit up as an office building at night, it kept a steady 50 km/hour.  Puddles were turning into huge pools.  This land is clay and floods easily.  I stayed as closely as I safely could to the road train and drove on dry land in it’s wake.  My heart pounded with anxiety but my hands and eyes were steady.  “Keep your eye on the road train” was my mantra.  Eighty five kilometres later, there it was, a patch of blue.  I stopped for a moment to take a picture.  Within seconds, the landscape turned from dark and angry to the mellow colours of farming sunset.  Yes, the crisis, passed.

Although the storm did not hit Merredin, not even a drop of rain, the birds seemed to be affected by it.  There were no small honeyeaters.  Next morning the black cockatoos with their splendid red tail feathers were loud.  When they left a solitary red western wattlebird appeared.  The sky was blue as I left it in Perth.  All was normal again.

Plan A was to get to Merredin safely.  Plan B got me there.

I firmly believe in teaching my children the value of Plan B.  I believe it is more important than Plan A.  It is in Plan B where resilience is nurtured, where it takes shape.  Plan B can be a saviour.

Until next time

As always

a dawn bird

I’m learning that sometimes life takes you to places where you see extraordinary things in ordinary places.

I’ve spent a lot of time in the scrubland of Big Swamp over the last few months.  It is a place of delight and a highlight of my weekly trips to the south west.  I often stand quietly near the scrubland past the boardwalk.  I find the fairy blue wrens here.

Early one morning she caught my eye.  A small bird, erupting vertically above the bushes and then disappearing.  My step quickened.  The colour was neutral but I caught glimpse of a butter yellow breast.  I knew I hadn’t seen the bird before.  I scanned the bush and stood quietly.  Then she flew in.  Perched on the branch and faced the sun.  A moment that made me catch my breath.  My camera was quicker and caught her in a rare moment of quiet.  Then, poised, and as fleeting as a heart beat, she was gone.  The memory still makes me smile.

This energetic bird is difficult to see.  The markings and colour blend in beautifully with the surrounds.   To see one is to know it is there.  Then, one seeks it.  Much like truth.  Much like knowledge.  Much like life.

Until next time,

As always

a dawn bird

 

“Courage is knowing what not to be afraid of”, the quote is attributed to Plato.  I’ve reflected on this several times in the past few months. The new year has demanded this.

My new work schedule includes working two days a week in a multidisciplinary clinical setting.  It has taken courage to do this.  The work itself is familiar but the work environment and client population, are not.  I’ve had to learn ‘a new language’ as clinical meetings are conducted in jargon and acronyms.  After a period of adjustment, I’m settled.  I’m enjoying it.

On the face of it, I was nervous accepting the job.  It required the usual set of professional skills, in addition to having the ability to work independently as well as part of a team.  The client population is varied from young adults to elderly people.  I shift gears several times a day.  It is a youthful team of highly experienced and skilled staff who take pride in what they do, and do it well.  An outsider, I’m thrilled to be accepted as a contributing member of this team.

Driving to the south west is a lengthy minimum 2.5 hours drive.  I’ve learnt to accept this as a ‘holiday’.  I relax when I’m in the south west.  I walk the beach.  I photograph birds.  I have leisure time when I’m not working.

It is ironic I enjoy being near water as much as I do.  A non-swimmer, it is my nemesis.  So catching a female fairy blue wren peering over the bridge in Big Swamp took my breath away and then I experienced joy.  I realised she was not afraid of the wide expanse of water or the height.  She has wings.  She can fly.

Later that day I walked along the beach.  It was one of those evenings when a storm further north was making everyone restless.  In the distance, I watched him.  A new friend.  The waves roared up against the rock face.  He did not flinch.  He stood for a moment longer, watching the raging waves melt into foam again.  The waves went back to where they came from.  The sea, was a sea, again.  He knew this.  The knowledge made him unafraid.

Over forty years ago, on arriving in Australia, I peered into the vastness of opportunity.  And, I’ve had to stand strong in raging storms.

Today, there is one thing I am certain about.  I know the difference what I need to be afraid of, and what not to be afraid of.  I have knowledge.  I have wings.  I have courage.

May you be blessed with the same.

As always,

a dawn bird

I have been incredibly busy and I’ve yearned to catch up on the blog.  Despite the busy schedule I’ve been fortunate to have a day’s break between trips.  This allows me to explore the area wherever I am.  The coming year promises to have a lot of travel and I’m looking forward to this aspect of my work.

I recently visited Narrogin, Western Australia, some 200 km south east of Perth.  In fact, I’ve now visited the place twice.  Time does fly!  As I had not spent over night here before I looked for things of interest.  Foxes Lair came up as one of the places to visit.  The entry into the bushland is unsealed gravel road, so I proceeded carefully.  Just as well, too.  No sooner had I entered, a large male kangaroo jumped across the road ahead of me in one leap to join his mob on the other side.  Spectacular!  They are elusive and blend perfectly into the surrounds and impossible to photograph unless they are comfortable having humans around them.  I returned to this place several times.  It is a place of enchantment.  More so I hear during spring, when it is renowned for the wildflowers.  I’m impatient to see the transformation.

I waited for sunrise one morning.  It streamed in silently through the tall mallee trees two hours after I got there.  The sun appeared half an hour later, higher up in the sky, at 8:40 am, peering out, a half-open, sleepy eye.  This is country living!  Even, Mother Nature takes it slow and easy!  I watch the light illuminate the world around me.  The magnificent gum trees.  The vivid bark, once used as a tanning agent, stripped bare off the mallee trees.  The delicate buds of the acacia.

I take it all in.  A sensory feast.

My favourite prayer comes to mind, “The morning is my chapel.  It is where I seek and find Thee”.

I’m off again, and again, and again ….

Until next time,

As always,

a dawn bird

It’s International Women’s Day today. The hashtag says:  BeBoldForChange.

This post is to celebrate all the women in my family, in my network of friends and colleagues and in all the communities I have lived in. They were bold, well before the word hashtag became part of everyday vocabulary.  They adapted to life with flexibility and courage.

Women I have observed, first try and make a difference in the microcosim they inhabit by loving and nurturing their families and their community.

The women who were employed in my childhood home never had access to social media and yet their wisdom glowed in the dark for me. If their knowledge was inaccurate, it was, at least wonderous!

My mother who worked as a salesperson in a showroom, as a working wife and mother, was well ahead of her time. I remember her saying, “never mind” soothingly to my father when he was distressed he had to resign from his job at 39 due to ill health.  She was the main breadwinner for a period of time before they started a successful business. She was dignified in times of adversity and set the bar high. Little did she know, her sacrifices were observed by small children who continue to emulate her today.

My A/A, an aunt by marriage, always held her head high and found a rightful place for herself and her children within a large family after she left my uncle.  It those years, a travesty. My A/E lost two children and bore her unimaginable losses with grace.

A/M and A/Em, A/Mi, all neighbours, as young widows and mothers raised their children singlehandedly into the wonderful people they are today.  They have gone on to be grandparents in UK, Australia, Canada, USA.

My beloved Mrs B, my former landlady who lived through the horrors of WWII losing her father, brother, husband and two little sons, survived a Siberian camp and still had room in her heart to love and nurture me like I was her own.

My teacher, Mrs E, who taught me to expect the best from myself first.

My cousins who keep the bonds of family strong when siblings have walked away to follow their own dream.

My childhood friends who make the internet a playground again.

My daughter who shows me the way that was, and the way it should be.

My future daughter in law, who lost her mother at nine, still carries within her a locket of childhood in her paintings.

And on a day of celebration, as a woman, I am grateful for the gift of motherhood. It gives me the ability to view the world through a child’s lens of wonder.

Like the shy, timid swamp hen may you see beauty in your reflection.  In your boldness to be who you are.

Until next time

As always

a dawn bird

 

 

 

I was never close to my mother.  I have yet to come across anyone that accepts this without judgement.  Warm, generous, beautiful, with impeccable taste in hospitality, home and fashion, she was loved by all who knew her.  Overwhelmed by people’s reaction to her, in my childhood, I chose to disappear into her shadow instead of basking in her light.  I recall we always seemed to spend twice as much time in the Church yard, than attending the hour long Mass.  Ignoring my impatience, people would flock to her, each with a story that she attended to patiently, giving hope where needed, encouraging when all seemed lost.  People seemed to get more comfort from her than from the pulpit in the previous hour.  It is not surprising, as a young widow at 46, she became a pastor in her later years.  Although the kind of Christianity she espoused, the kind that promotes and values prosperity, was too far away from the magnanimous one I was raised with.  Our discussions on her new and literal understanding of our faith, were fierce and fiery.  One day we reached an agreement.  We would not discuss religion.  And, we never did.

I observed my mother closely.  Always did.  And, in my pre-teens and teens, I moved as far away from her social persona as I legally could.  I felt I never measured up to her expectations, so I made sure I was successful at this.  As I age, it becomes more obvious to me, I had observed her more closely than I realised.  I now know, one observes for a reason and because of interest.  Ironically, it is the very essence of what I do for a living.  Those observations have led me to where I am today.  I am now living in her light.  The light she shone before she was born again.

Roses remind me of my mother.  I have an indelible memory of watching her drape a pale pink silk chiffon sari effortlessly.  A pink rosebud tucked into the side of her neat chignon.  A small pink and silver clutch in her hand.  Long, silver chandelier ear rings called jhumkas.  Silver sandals.  A light spray of the newly released perfume, Madame Rochas and she was good to go.  I walked behind her to the front door, inhaling deeply.

I walked around the front garden yesterday, deep in memory.  The spirit of my mother’s graciousness was overwhelming.  I’m uncertain how I would measure up to her expectations now.  But there is one thing I know for sure.  Had you been standing on the other side of the front door, my mother’s sentiment, the ever gracious sentiment, would have been perfectly reflected in the Irish playwright Richard Brinsley Sheridan’s words: “Won’t you come into the garden?  I would like my roses to see you.”

May your presence be honoured wherever you are today.

Until next time,

As always,

a dawn bird

A solitary seagull

walks along the shore

leaving footprints in the sand,

and nothing more.

She takes flight

hovering briefly,

above a blue sea

glassy eyed

with memory.

Back on shore,

landing on her feet

she walks regally

to show me

a crushed heart,

can still beat.

Until next time,

As always,

a dawn bird

As mentioned previously, the West coast of Australia received some unexpectedly high rainfalls in summer.  Travelling across the State, one can see a landscape transformed.  Naturally, rain dominates the topic of conversation.

I was recently in Kalgoorlie.  I had just missed the torrential rain they experienced.  The main roads were flooded and young folks shrieked while floating on inner tubes on previously dusty creeks.  Like I said, I had missed the rain but not it’s legacy.  Everywhere I go, the familiar is novel.  My eyes are greedy with awe at this nourished landscape as we fly in.  (I’ll post some photographs later).

As is my routine, I check the times for sunrise and sunset and set my alarm for the morning.  This time, I head out to Mt Charlotte.  I am alone with birdsong.  One of the most surprising things I have discovered in Kalgoorlie is the number of birds they have here.  Quite amazing given it is not an oasis of green.  The landscape is scrubby with elegant gum trees.  The earth is red.  The main street often streaked in bright orange or yellow clothing of those who work here.  This is gold mining country.

I’ve taken photographs of the town at sunset from Mt Charlotte.  The sun goes down on my right.  I’ve never photographed a sunrise here.  I know it must be on my left.  Duh!

Mt Charlotte is one of the highest points in town.  It is also an isolated spot with a few cars at sunset.  I never feel entirely safe here unless there is a busload of tourists.  At daybreak, I’m convinced there will be no one there.  I was right.

I needed little to convince myself, sunrise here will be awesome.  Almost bashful in my solitary presence, the horizon blushes, anticipating the spectacle that follows.  Within seconds, like the eye of God, sunlight streams directly over The Superpit, until recently, the biggest open cut gold mine in Australia.  For a split second I know I am not alone here.  The spirit of those who walked this land flood my thoughts.  The indigenous people, the pioneers, the entrepreneurs.  I am none of them.  Yet, I am.

I practice my mindfulness exercise for 15 minutes.  Once whole, I head to my day’s work.  No matter what the challenge, I know I can meet it.  I also know this is how a work day starts.

Until next time

As always,

a dawn bird

 

 

It was dark when I woke an hour before the freight train rumbled by at 6 am, less than a kilometre away.  I lie in bed and enjoy the vibration.  I know all is well.  This is my life.  This is familiar.

The honeyeater outside my chalet door in Merredin, Western Australia, is not.  Smaller than the ones I have in my garden, in the softest dawn light, his call is insistent and sweet. Under a harsher light, he is ordinary. Like me. In a garden filled with flowers, he knows what he wants. And, he is quick to seek it.

For a brief moment, he is silent and still.  So am I.

We share the same space.  Trust is a fragile intimacy.

I blink.  The camera clicks.  His company is fleeting, reinforcing the reality I face each day. I have no nectar.

His flight is as silent as unrequited love.  I look away from the camera.  I can only smile, because, he was once there.

Here’s hoping a memory makes you smile today. I know mine has.

Until next time,

As always,

A dawn bird

Last spring while walking in a nature reserve a Willy Wagtail caught my eye.  They usually do, because they are joyful creatures.  They are quick, have the sweetest call, and shake their tail feather like we all should do.  I also find their company comforting.  They are fearless and will not fly away on approach.  So to find a bird in the tree, quiet and not moving was unusual.  I zoomed in but could not see clearly because of the thicket.  I thought it was trapped by a leg in the thick brush, and, fearful of predators, silent.  Early morning, still concerned, I returned to the area.  Amazingly, the thicket had cleared, what was blocking my view, fell away.  I could see clearly.  It was a mother in a nest.  The clarity and perfection of the moment, delighted me.

Over the next few visits, the nest disappeared.  A few days ago while walking in the same area, a tiny Willy Wagtail chick dropped at my feet.  Shiny, new, curious, fearless, trusting.  A new life has begun.  It gave me pause for thought.

The reality of life is simple. In Nature, seeds and eggs burst, break, crack, as part of the process that brings new life into being.

So also with people. Sometimes, things have to break or sever, for new life to begin.

May today find you are able to break free from all that binds and traps you. When you do, new life awaits you.

Peace.

Until next time,

As always,

a dawn bird

Perth, Western Australia experienced a once in a 100 year weather event last week.  We were lashed by rain, some of the highest recorded falls and coldest summer days, in recent history.  It was undeniably winter, in the middle of summer.

I was hundreds of kilometres away and wondered how my parched summer garden was coping with the onslaught.  I made a cup of coffee early morning and went outdoors  … to this.

I have several different kinds of jasmine in my garden in shrub form and a climber.  The shrubs vary in size, with this one well over 8-10 feet high.  It is the most generous plant in my garden.  With a little nurturing, it lays down a perfumed carpet.  The bees love it, as do I!  A wonderful reminder … when you have something beautiful to give, a 100 year storm cannot destroy it.

The perfume of jasmine is where home is.  I recall in the India of my childhood, women wore strings or slender garlands of jasmine entwined in their braids or chignon.  It was a familiar adornment around homes and temples where garlands of flowers are hung over the entrance.  It was worn as a bracelet by teenagers, giddy with puberty.  A symbol of femininity and grace, it was a flower most closely associated with women.  My mother found the scent of jasmine too heady.  She preferred roses.  She often tucked a perfect rose bud alongside her chignon.

For me, the perfume of jasmine grounds me.  It reminds me of a time when I felt safe and secure.  The indelible memory, the experience, of being home.  And, that’s how I feel now.  As I write, the heaven scent wafts in intermittently.  I’m home.

May you find ‘home’ today where ever you may be.

Until next time

As always

a dawn bird

There’s a benevolent quality that comes to the fore in all when looking for ‘something special’ in Nature.

For some, a sunset is a sunset.  For others, it is an event.

Sitting at a waterfront pub at The Fascine with a colleague recently in Carnarvon, Western Australia, the visitors to town were obvious.  They eyed the soon-to-set sun and chose their table accordingly close to the heat of big glassed windows.  The locals buried themselves deep into the darkness of the indoors and away from the heat.  Others, cold beer in hand, sat on the ledge and directed the tourists where to find the best angle for their photograph, cautioning when an occasional car drove by.

I’ve always been drawn to the sky.

As a child in India I recall we would hire ‘summer beds’ for several months.  They would be lined up in the front yard with snowy white mosquito netting.  The maid would make up the beds just after dusk.  Slipping into a cool bed at night when the sun had gone down is a delicious sensory memory.  Chatting to our neighbourhood peers over the hedge and being constantly hushed to sleep is another memorable one.  We had no fear.  We were safe, in the open.  The monsoons would arrive, with rain showers predictably at midnight.  There would be a mad rush to take the bedding indoors to be set up hastily before we caught a few more hours sleep.  It was something that happened every night for several nights until the rains would appear almost constantly, day and night, before the summer beds were sent back, until next year.

I was always fascinated by the night sky.  By the stars.  By the moon.  It was my connection with the wider world.  It was the same Moon viewed by others around the world in faraway places.  It was a world I wanted to be part of.  Each summer night, I plotted and dreamed … one day …

My “one day” is here.  I still look at the sky with wonder.  How can I not?  There is one difference from my childhood.  This time, I want others to be part of my world.  So I share.

Until next time

As always

a dawn bird

Blue

As blue as a moment,

alone,

caught by surprise

at the memory

of his eyes.

As always,

a dawn bird

 

 

Dawn is the best time for me.  I see clearly.  I think clearly.  I feel clearly.  I am synced best at this time of day.  It is my moment of mindfulness when all senses are intensified.  It is a moment that has taken years to acquire.  It is now an addiction.  I seek it every day.

I took this picture at dawn in Carnarvon, Western Australia, an image running adjacent to my hotel.  As soon as I took it, I had a visceral response.  I knew I had photographed what I had seen.  There was a feeling of authenticity that resonated deeply within me.

I don’t do this well with people.  If I feel slighted or in doubt when someone is being passive-aggressive, I tend to give them another chance, despite a bum note resonating in my body.  I second guess myself.  I make excuses for their behaviour, sometimes blaming myself.  No more.  And, I’m not just saying, no more.  I’m practising it.

As we get older, behaviours and habits are set in people unless they consciously want to change them.  If one lacks insight into their own behaviour and the impact it has on others, or perhaps even if they do know this and continue with their behaviour, then I know it is time to distance myself.  It is not my role or my responsibility to help them gain insight or be their change agent.

This kind of truth brings its own distress and joy.  The latter may be difficult to experience at the time because there is no harsher truth than discovering a friend’s behaviour for what it is.

Reflecting on Maya Angelou’s words, “When someone shows you who they are, believe them the first time” I know this is true.  As the picture shows, what is visible above the water line, is reflected perfectly below it.  But, you can only see it in a moment of clarity.

May you find your moment today.

Until next time,

As always

a dawn bird