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12:30 pm.  I arrive at the small airport, the one used for charter flights and off the main airport just in time to hear the announcement.  The flight to Sunrise Dam is delayed.  The voice on the PA adds, passengers can show their boarding pass at the counter and get a slice of pizza!  The room is filled with a sherbet volcanic eruption.  The miners in their high viz orange and yellow clothing, headed to the gold mine, some 1000 km northeast of Perth, hear the announcement too.  Soon the congo line snakes out the front door.  Some chomp their way through their free lunch with absolute focus, others comment with gusto, “Bloody good, eh!  Almost restaurant quality!” to anyone within ear shot.  Thirty minutes later with the most delicious pizza permeating the air, same announcement and the same result is repeated.  An eruption of colour, that settles into an orderly queue and hungry men returning to their seats with their spoils.  No angry customers.  No angry tantrums at flight delays.  No demands for better customer service.  I’m still smiling at the memory.

At university I recall my classmates making plans of working in private practice.  I can still remember one or two who had aims of working in West Perth, the mecca of health specialist services.  I recall one whose husband was adamant working in West Perth was the plan for her.  Perhaps due to my circumstances, life as a practitioner seemed so far away, that I really did not plan the distant future.  But I knew one thing for sure.  I was going to work differently.  Influenced by mentors who advocated universal health care, I wanted my services to be accessible.  From the time I was a student practitioner, my work focused on accessibility for all.  I had not thought this one through but now realize I had unconsciously made a commitment I would go to others when they were unable to come to me.  I have reaped many personal, spiritual and professional rewards from this kind of thinking.

At the time of writing this, I’m flying to Carnarvon, via Shark Bay, while glancing occasionally at the landscape below me, the bluest of seas, curved coastline and the occasional seaside hamlet.  The propeller plane flies low at 18,000 ft.  The coastline is visible but too far to recognize landmarks as the flight avoids the inclement weather over land.  Soon we will be stopping in Shark Bay.  I love this area.  The landscape is spectacular.  The plane meets the tarmac with a thud.  I always try and catch a glimpse of the tiny airport as we make a sharp turn.  A small shack, wire fence, a few white plastic chairs and a plastic table or two make up the whole airport.  This time, someone is waiting with a placard!  There are only two passengers on board who disembark.  There are twice as many people at the airport!  But, they are thoughtful and have come prepared with a home made cardboard placard!

The plane turns on a five cent piece and we take off again.  We seem to ascend faster than the descent.  Before I can catch my breath, we are air borne.  Thirty minutes later we land in Carnarvon, flying low over banana, watermelon and mango plantations.

On my return journey home from this region at sunset, the beauty left behind is fleeting as a backward glance.

As I reflect on this I am more and more convinced … life is not about luck.  It is all about making the right choices.  I know I made the right one.  The view is beautiful from here.

Until next time

As always,

a dawn bird

“Featherweight by Suzy Kassem
One evening,
I sat by the ocean and questioned the moon about my destiny.
I revealed to it that I was beginning to feel smaller compared to others,
Because the more secrets of the universe I would unlock,
The smaller in size I became.

I didn’t understand why I wasn’t feeling larger instead of smaller.
I thought that seeking Truth was what was required of us all –
To show us the way, not to make us feel lost,
Up against the odds,
In a devilish game partitioned by
An invisible wall.

Then the next morning,
A bird appeared at my window, just as the sun began
Spreading its yolk over the horizon.
It remained perched for a long time,
Gazing at me intently, to make sure I knew I wasn’t dreaming.
Then its words gently echoed throughout my mind,
Telling me:

‘The world you are in –
Is the true hell.
The journey to Truth itself
Is what quickens the heart to become lighter.
The lighter the heart, the purer it is.
The purer the heart, the closer to light it becomes.
And the heavier the heart,
The more chained to this hell
It will remain.’

And just like that, it flew off towards the sun,
Leaving behind a tiny feather.
So I picked it up,
And fastened it to a toothpick,
To dip into ink
And write my name.”
― Suzy Kassem, Rise Up and Salute the Sun: The Writings of Suzy Kassem

Wherever you are, may you find a way to write your name today.

Until next time,

As always

a dawn bird

It is said that challenges change us.  For me, this is true.  Taking photographs was never my thing.  Hand me a camera and you would get a blurry shot.  Guaranteed!

Alone at the beach recently, with just a passing jogger or cyclist in the distance, I saw a ball of white fluff moved across the landscape.  It looked out of place on the sand.  I zoomed in and much to my surprise found a tiny bird, a plover of some kind, I believe, headed towards the waves.  Surprised, because I’ve never seen the bird so far south.  I usually see them in Broome, some 2000 km north.  They are tiny and scurry at great speed.  I’ve seen one fly a short distance only once.  They can be difficult to get in focus because they move quickly across the sand.  And, they blend in with their environment beautifully.  Forty minutes later and over 100 photographs playing a game of “where’s wally”, the bird moved towards me, even standing still for a moment for me to get a picture.  And, then against a rock.  And finally, a small call.  Delighted with the interaction, the challenge then was to leave the beach and resume my day.

Photography is teaching me to see the world differently.  It makes me view the world differently.  I see things, I never saw before.  It makes me look outwards first, before looking inwards.  The result is joy in small things.  Nothing matters until I get this daily hit at some time during my day.  It can happen roadside while eating a sandwich in a hot car or on a balmy beach at dawn.  The challenge has become to pursue joy, every day and, in each day.  It is a challenge that has changed me.

May you, too, find joy in small things this weekend.

Until next time

As always

a dawnbird

Recently, just before flying out on a regional trip, I realised I had not met my monthly resolution of enrolling in professional development.  The seminar I wanted to attend was a few days away.  I jumped on the website and enrolled, printed off my ticket and left for my trip.  There was no time to reflect on the seminar I was to attend.  With the flight coming in later than usual, the next morning, I dressed hurriedly and got to the seminar, 15 minutes late.  I had missed the ‘housekeeping’ and schedule for the program.  I settled in, attentive, interested and open.  Soon, a feeling of disquiet came over me.  There were no name tags, no attendance register, no information when professional attendance certificate would be handed out.  Odd!  I fiddled with my pen incessantly to calm the feeling of having paid good money for something that did not seem to have a familiar format.  The pen leaked onto my fingers and the ink found its way to my white linen top.  The lady next to me giggled as I caught her eye and hissed, “when wearing white … Murphy’s law”.

A student for the day, I wanted to learn but the message was muted by the presenter’s harsh use of the ‘f’ word.  The use of the word does not offend me.  It has its place.  But not when used liberally as adjective, adverb and noun in a formal seminar, repeatedly, even as a quote.  Having arrived a few minutes late, half way through the seminar I asked the lady near me about the professional background of the presenter.  She stated, she had arrived early, but the presenter had not mentioned it in the introduction.  I grew more curious as the hours slipped away.  Having read extensively on the topic, my feeling of disquiet grew.  The seminar did not appear to come from evidence based literature but on case studies.  There was a thin thread holding together a range of established practices, put together by one person’s experience, and now promoted for therapeutic practice in a highly sensitive area.  The day’s program was a taster of the presenter’s practice.  At the end, it was announced the full course of three days will be run at a cost of several thousand dollars.  I picked up my belongings and headed home, taking the coastal route, to calm my outrage.

The first thing I did when I came home was do a google search for the presenter and the organisation.  I am yet to find it.  It is definitely online.  I just cannot find it.  Had I read the background, I would not have wasted my money and time.

This leads me to why I am writing the blog today.  I have a sense of disquiet about a lot of things lately.  I have asked myself, how it is possible, in this day and age of technology and information overload, people are still uninformed.  Have we been reduced to just reading the headlines, ‘click bait’ I believe it’s called, aimed at the vulnerable.  The louder the voice, the more flamboyant, we are led to believe, it must be true.  In this instance, I was vulnerable.  The headline was bold.  It automatically became a priority on my monthly to do list.

On the day I had learnt nothing but a valuable lesson.  It reinforced my learning journey.  Over the past few years I have been steadily taking a different approach in my work.  I have come to appreciate, brain functioning is complex.  There is more that we don’t know, than what we do know.  At the very least, this lack of knowledge should instil humility in one.  Good teaching demands, we respect this.  Good practice, demands this.  We owe  this to the people who trust us with their well being.

It is quite possible, this is applicable to politics as well.

Until next time

As always,

a dawn bird

 

 

 

 

It is my first flight of the year.  The terminal is busier than usual.  I walk around looking for a seat among a sea of people, mostly men.  A flight is announced.  There is an exodus to the gate.  The line is probably the longest I have ever seen in this terminal.  They are headed to the mine in Telfer.  Smiles are broad as they greet each other warmly in a word, “G’daymatehowyergoin”.  Their jokes are weak, their laughter loud and raucous.  Some look forward to being underground where, “It will be bloody cooler, mate!”  It’s blokey talk.  This camaraderie I noticed some years ago but in the down turn last year, markedly absent.  It’s good to see folks happy again.  I silently wish I could be as exuberant as they are.

The pilot announces it is 40 degrees centigrade on the ground in Esperance.  I anticipate a bumpy ride and proved right.  The landing is one of the worst, even with my eyes closed, I feel the small plane dip, tilt and shudder.  Twenty three landings to the end of the year is way too many.  Despite the inherent dangers of country driving, I seriously consider the ten hour drive next time.  It’s a familiar thought.  I have it every time I take this flight.

Despite the heat, Esperance is beautiful as always.  I pass the Golf Course on the left, just before I enter town.  I always look for the Cape Barren Geese that roam the green.  If they are there, they are visible from the highway.  I see five and pull in for a quick picture.  They are large, magnificent birds.  Distinctive.  They take off and land like an airliner, gathering speed in slow motion until air borne and landing with a thud, their large muscular legs seemingly unable to stop until the momentum is slowed down.  In the air and in formation, they are elegant.  The black winged stilt on impossibly long red legs is foraging for insects.  The honeyeater peers out of the green lawn.  The wattlebird blends into the tree.  I feel calm and centred.

I arrive at work the next day.  The low morale of staff is surprising.  The funding cuts have left scars.  They are having farewells.  Other staff are going on leave, unsure whether they have a job on their return.  My schedule is booked back to back one day and overbooked the next.  Under the funding restraints I feel guilty to remind the secretary of my daily quota, which is less than what they have booked in for me.  To add to the unexpected load there is a crisis 15 minutes before I leave on Friday.  I work another hour.  It has turned out a 9 hour day.  I finish work and head to the hotel where, exhausted, I fall asleep fully clothed.  I wake just before 8 pm only to find the cleaners had turned off the fridge.  My dinner and breakfast ends up in the trash.  I head out looking for something to eat.  A futile attempt as the choice is either fast food or fast food.  And, as I watch the young artiste hurriedly assemble my sandwich, it occurs to me, it is Friday the 13th.  I ascribe the circumstances of the day to the calendar.  Somehow it sits better with me that way.

Esperance has become a friend.  It is familiar, soothing, accepting.  I love everything about it, the Bay, the beaches, the bush, the birds and the locals.  This time the pale full moon hangs low over the Bay, a smudge of moonshine drawing my eye.  West Beach is busy with a lone walker while the massive granite rocks at Dempster Head, at the other end, dwarfs a grown man.  The sea at this beach is as serene as a madonna.  At Salmon Beach, the sea has “its resting bitchface on”, according to a fisherman!  It is roiling and boiling more than usual.

I’m reading a book ‘Useful Belief’ by Chris Hedler.  It helps me accept the circumstances of the last two days.  Nature adds the byline.  All is, as should be.

May all be as it should be in your world too.

Until next time,

As always

a dawn bird

The Seagull

Under a warm, generous sky

shared by moon, stars, sun and sea

the seagull watches

with an enchanted eye

dawn’s perfect synergy.

While others preen, flock and fly

still

the seagull watches

with that ever watchful eye.

As the moon fades

to brighten another darkened sky

the seagull watches,

through a glassy clear eye.

And when the sun, too, settles

into the embrace of the sea

she returns to the edge

undaunted, undeterred,

by this familiar infidelity.

She knows

a new dawn breaks

beyond the sea

and so

the seagull watches

and waits

expectantly.

Where ever you are, may you wake to face the sun.

As always

a dawn bird

It’s the first day of 2017!  The fireworks have fizzed into smoke until next year.  But, the champagne bubbles are still bubbling, and the cold beer frothing, I’m sure, in many homes.  I know they will in mine later tonight when I have company over.  Some wake to resolutions every new year.  I try and avoid annual resolutions.  I never keep them past a day or two.  Then I feel I have failed.  So I set goals for the day.  Sometimes the day is segmented into sections.  I find I achieve goals better and more effectively this way.  It also gives me a sense of satisfaction when I do.

The Australian flora teaches us a wonderful lesson.  Perhaps this happens in other parts of the world as well.  There are some plants that need the intensity of bushfires to help their seeds germinate.  Soon they spill colour onto an otherwise beige landscape that is so summer.  Last January a huge bushfire devastated a township.  On the highway from Perth to Bunbury there was kilometre after kilometre of charred trees and vegetation.  A few months later, I found new growth.  The grass trees are more prolific than before.  There are vine climbing up darkened branches.  From the sombre grey of ashes, new life begins.

I’m inspired by this.  At the end of each year I reflect on what went well and what didn’t.  An inventory, if you like.  There are some experiences I know I will not repeat but they were necessary.  I needed the heat for ideas to germinate.  There are others I’m eager to try.  This year I’m determined to get some big ticket bucket list experiences crossed off the list.  I’ve built my work schedule around them.  This is an unusual year.  I’ve had one annual resolution.  And, it has already been achieved.  My down time for personal growth has been organised.  I feel elated at the very thought!

May the new year bring you joy.  May it bring love and laughter of family and friends into your life.  And, may you grow and blossom during those intense moments of searing heat.  Because, that’s when life begins.

Until next time

As always

A dawn bird

 

 

Another year has flown past.  Too quickly.  This is the year I’ve come to realise, this is my life.

It has been a year of triumphs and a year of disappointments.  I’ve enjoyed the intensity and challenges inherent in frequent travel.  The excitement of visiting new places, working with new teams and the comfort of the familiar, the teams and colleagues I’ve worked with over the years.  On the home front, the house is taking shape and is slowly becoming a reflection of how I want to live.  It is becoming a sanctuary.  My business has expanded and I move to a new office soon to accommodate the expansion.  From next year I’ll be working in the south west of the State more frequently.  Renowned for the lifestyle of quality produce, fine wines, cheeses, flora, fauna, coast and surf, I’m thrilled at the prospect of more photography opportunities.

I’ve been able to hang on to hope that my contracts would be renewed.  After nearly 11 months of almost unbearable patience, not only have they been renewed, but then some!  If at all possible, it promises to be a busier year.  I’ve had the courage to accept work in a new area, one that requires more learning and upskilling.  I’ve accepted it because it was an offer that found its way to me in the most circuitous manner.  It has presented itself for a reason.

As I mentioned previously, it has also been a year of disappointments.  It is my steadfast Faith that underpins what I am most grateful for.  It is the courage to take risks, make mistakes, learn from the experiences, and allow myself to sit with the discomfort that comes from poor decision making and judgement, instead of deflecting it.  I’ve found this kind of living has a sequence.  Embracing it I’ve found, if you listen closely enough, there is music in the momentum of change.  A rhythm.

It’s called life.

Here’s to yours. May you find courage to take risks. May you find mistakes are opportunities to learn, to heal, to grow.  It is in the chaos of discomfort we find the best teachers, and if are open to the experience, we find it is the best learning environment. When we emerge from this, not only do we discover the best that is within us, we are able to share it with others.

May your heart seek and find what it’s looking for in the coming year.

As always

a dawn bird

Recently on impulse my daughter S, her boyfriend M and I drove to the south west region of Western Australia one Sunday to spend the day.  A 600 km return trip.  It felt like a week long holiday!

We started our day with early morning breakfast at Koombana Bay in Bunbury where dolphins visit on a regular basis.  Then to Margaret River, our premier wine and surf country.  We visited The Berry Farm and delighted in the Splendid Blue Wrens as they fed off M’s hand, then a leisurely bush walk through a raptor sanctuary before a late lunch at a boutique brewery then headed back home laden with beautiful olive oil, balsamic vinegar, cheeses, chocolates, fruits and wine.

As we walked in light rain, soon there were no derogatory comments about my photography but rather a keen interest in what we were observing.  An ordinary ‘blow’ fly, now still and jewel like, a Western corella, high up in the gum trees, a tawny frogmouth, perfectly blended with the bark of the tree stump, the stony faced barn owl, caught in a moment of mirth.  Before long, S and M were drawing my attention to birds, flowers and trees.  Fully engaged with the environment, their senses on alert, they would shhhh each other, “listen!”.  At the end of the walk S turned around and said to me, “For my birthday next year, if you are looking for a nice present, I would love a good camera”.  M chimed in with plans of where they could visit, look for special landscapes, research flora and fauna and they would have their weekends sorted out.  Listening to them made my heart soar!

To hear my high spirited daughter suddenly find nature has something special to offer, was revealing a new side to her.

In that moment I knew we understood each other.  It was a joyful gift to give and receive.

Until next time,

As always,

a dawn bird

As a child in India, besides being snap frozen at Midnight Mass, Christmas had special meaning.  It was a celebration that came from, and with, heart.

As December approached, Christian households would be a hive of activity.  Nibbles were made specifically at this time of year with the intention of sharing. It was “Burra Din” (roughly translated Big Day or Revered Day). A day of celebration for Christians who opened their hearts and homes to neighbours and visitors regardless of their religious beliefs or station in life. It was an accepted practice of inclusivity.

Although we had fruit trees in the garden, in the month before, my mother would buy kilograms of best guavas from Allahabad. They came by train in a cane basket, buried in straw.  After all the preparation of peeling and coring the fruit, a huge cauldron of pink lava would bubble for hours, stirred constantly by a 3 ft wooden paddle while the cook dodged the angry splatter. When ready, the lava would be spread on to greased plates and allowed to cool, then cut into diamond shapes.  The end result was the delicious fudge, known as guava cheese, that never lasted long enough. The beautiful ruby jelly, made from the seeds and some pulp, was enjoyed at breakfast for several months. The making of the crispy kulkuls, fashioned in a similar way to gnocchi except it is a sweet pastry version, was an excuse for adults and children to sit in a circle and chatter.  The rich fruit cake, all homemade, and when complimented, mother would smile enigmatically, her recipe jealously guarded.  All joyfully prepared.  The ginger biscuits, nankhatai (a buttery shortbread biscuit with cinnamon and nutmeg), and yellow and pink ribbon cake came from Joe’s Bakery in Nagpur, my mother’s ancestral home. My mother made chocolates with green peppermint centres that were shared sparingly, as greedy children discreetly protested, one was never enough!

Gift giving was not the norm in later years but when I was younger, the thrill of yet another doll or tea set lasted the whole year.  Regardless of age, we were given one pair of new shoes, handmade by the Chinese shoemaker Ten Sing (who eventually migrated to Canada and did well there) and several sets of new clothing for the holiday season.  It was accepted practice to wear new outfits to every occasion in the days between Christmas and New Year.  And, there were plenty of occasions at the club and visiting friends and neighbours.  In the lead up to this, we poured over catalogues borrowed from our neighbour, Aunty E, for design ideas for our dresses. The two tailors in town, both Muslim, were in hot demand. One, “Fatty Tailor”, always over estimated how much material was needed and his Bebe and multitude of children were seen after Christmas sporting new clothing, in the same material as us! Santa arrived one evening at the club for the Children’s Christmas Party, wearing a plastic face. His presence in our life, was limited. At home, my mother gave new saris to the women and new shirts to the men who were our home help. There was always a steady stream of postmen who arrived for their annual tip.  Often, there were new faces in old uniforms!  But my parents’ generosity did not discriminate.  I still remember the joy of the practices that embodied the spirit of “Burra Din”.

My Christmas has not changed much. Our home is a hive of activity. I prefer to do the grocery shopping and cooking by myself. I shop with love. I cook with even more love. A laden table brings it’s own joy.  Each year I try my hand at new ways of including amuse bouche but the dessert of dried apricot ice cream is a must, much like the guava cheese from childhood.  I know from the aroma of apricots and Cointreau being cooked, it is Christmas Eve.  This is the year I discovered Pimms!  If I were to describe it in a word …. refreshing.  The perfect drink on a hot Christmas day.

Our main gift giving is the positive, loving presence in each other’s life during the year. We are reminded a Holy Family was created by the birth of a child. So I’m always grateful at this time of year to the children’s father, for the gift of motherhood and family.

I’ve learnt over the years, humble beginnings do not preclude being family, the brightest light in the darkest night is the star that shines above the place we call home, and that the softest warmth is in the breath of those who are loved by us, and love us in return.

And, so this was Christmas, until next year.  I hope your celebrations were as joyous as those in our home.

As always,

a dawn bird

It’s Christmas morning!  I have been up since before dawn planning the schedule for the day.  Although young adults, my children still look forward to the day with child like excitement, as do I.

This year it is dinner at my home.  My children are eating lunch elsewhere.  They promise to arrive hungry for their evening meal!  We have not had Christmas dinner at my home before so I’m excited about the table setting.  Tea lights, candles, fresh flowers, etc, etc.  It has also given me more hours to cook!

I first bought Christmas decorations in 1985 at Harrods when we were living in the UK for several months.  I still have them.  But, for some strange twist of fate we could not find them in the garage and I had to buy a new tree and decorations.  My young adults will squeal with delight when they walk in the front door, as they are not expecting to see a tree!  I feel blessed to have children who still delight in the ordinary.  It’s an important quality to nurture, I feel.

It has already warmed up.  I can hear my neighbours and their children splashing and laughing in the pool.  This is Christmas in Australia.

May your Christmas be a day filled with the love and laughter of family, friends and neighbours.

Peace.

As always,

a dawn bird

For some, the full moon is symbolic of becoming whole again. For some, it is a symbol of madness. I’ve known people in the mental health and emergency services swear they are busier, when there is a full moon.

From childhood I have always scanned the sky for the full moon.  In my new home I have woken at night only to find the kitchen flooded in light from the full moon outside the window.  Almost like a prop light.  Magical companionship!  The full moon, for me, is a symbol of oneness.  Of connectedness.

This picture was taken at Gantheaume Point in Broome on a night of celebration.  It was the night of the Floating Lanterns during the Shinju Matsuri Festival.  Originally the lighted lanterns were meant to honour the memory of those pearlers who were lost at sea.  Over time, it has become symbolic of peace.  Of friendship.  Of love.  Of gratitude.  It is a touching ceremony that takes place at dusk.

A non-swimmer I was too anxious to walk into the sea, so a stranger walked my lantern into deeper waters.  In the womblike embrace of warm briny waters, I was one with my parents.  I had come to honour their memory.  To farewell them.  But I was at their knee, a child again, learning.  I did so silently while watching the lantern silhouetted against fading light, until it blended with hundreds of other lanterns.  Soon all messages of peace, friendship, love and gratitude were one.  A collective message sent out to sea with hope it will return with the tides.

I turned around to walk to the shore and saw the moon.  It was one of those magic moments.  It illuminated the truth I needed to see.

I am who I am.

Until next time

As always,

a dawn bird

 

 

 

Many years ago I had a friend who travelled frequently.  I was curious how quickly he adapted to the places he visited for work.  The trick he shared was simple.  Create the familiar.  I’ve found this to be good advice.  Where ever I travel, I attempt to create the familiar.  My recent trip to the south west region of Western Australia was fraught with work and unresolved business.  So, I sought the familiar.  Surprisingly, I still find the familiar, novel.  There is so much about Mother Nature I don’t know.  For example, I thought spring time is when new birds hatch.  Now I understand some birds hatch young several times a year.

Seeking the familiar, early one morning I headed off to Big Swamp, in Bunbury.  The New Holland Honeyeaters, striking birds, with a ray of sunshine in their wings, were feeding or watching others feed.  I love these birds!  I spent an hour walking the boardwalk and footpaths when I saw, what I thought was a small banksia cone float by.    I zoomed in to find the Eurasian Coot had some new chicks.  So new, they were almost translucent.  I watched the mother herd them away from open water and towards the safety of the grassy overhang.  They were a complete surprise to see!  After a while I treaded lightly, searching for the Splendid Blue Wren that I had seen in this area before.  My efforts were futile this time.  I started to head to the car when I heard a tiny tweet, as imperceptible as practiced deceit.  The morning sun glinted on blue just for a second.  Deep in the thicket was the beautiful wren and female.  She is less flamboyant in dull grey and rust but her eye is a gorgeous pale blue.  Too quick for gazing, catching this on the camera was a delight!  They are exquisitely tiny birds.

The mother Willy Wagtail was comfortable in her beautifully constructed nest.  I have a special affinity with this bird.  A few years ago on a day when everything went wrong, I sat on my sofa, too paralysed with distress to move.  A Willy Wagtail never left my sight.  It came up to the door.  It flew up on the patio roof.  It looked at me with curiosity from the other side of the glass window.  But it never left my home  It kept me company all day. It was such a powerful companionship that I broke free from the inertia of distress.  Now, where ever I travel or when I bush walk, the first bird I see is the Willy Wagtail.  I may be biased but it has the sweetest call.  It reminds me I’m not alone.

I have taken the month off to get ready for the new year that promises to bring surprises and more travel.  Right now, I’m enjoying the familiar of home.  I don’t get to do this very much or very often.  Like the Willy Wagtail, I’m nesting for a while.

Until next time,

As always,

a dawn bird

 

It’s the first week of summer!

There was a time when I flinched at the thought. Heat, frenetic shoppers of junk impatient at check out queues and bad tempered drivers competing for limited parking bays, loomed larger than life. I have mellowed.

Despite the heat, summer means Christmas baking and cooking. Mango, melons, peaches, plums, grapes and berries flood weekend markets. Tomatoes are redder.  Cucumbers greener.  And, one of my favourite fruits, the cherries arrive mid December!  I’m headed to the Cherry Festival this year!  Best of all, the taste of fruit and vegetables is not dulled by cold storage.

Feeling comfortable in linen and bamboo clothing is a welcomed experience. Watering the garden by hand is a peaceful, mindful activity.

Morning arrives earlier. The sun, reluctant to set, leaves later. Walks along a frilled shore masks the intent of exercise.  Sea sounds are joyous when waves meet the shore.

But most of all, contemplative in the space where the year comes to an end, I am happy in memory and look forward to making new ones.

Until next time

As always,

a dawn bird

It is said, sailors regard the Welcome Swallow as a sign that land is nearby.  In other mythology, they are regarded as a symbol of plenty, of new life, signalling the drab of winter is over.  Spring is nigh.

I delight in these birds.  I usually see them near the waterfront in Bunbury, swooping low while they chase each other.  They are incredibly difficult to photograph at this time. They are so playful, rarely stopping.  I have dozens of blurred pictures of them!

Deep in reflection about various professional choices on offer, I headed to Big Swamp early one morning in Bunbury.  I needed comfort.  I needed the embrace of Mother Nature.  I was too early.  The birds had not yet awakened.

Then, in the silence of dawn I saw it.  Silent and still.  Facing the sun.  Basking in warmth.  Feet firmly planted on a steady surface.  Like me.

In a split second I knew what my choices for the next few years were going to be.

I believe I’ve had a fortunate life.  I’ve worked hard for all I have.  I have never been discontented, wanting more.  But, I have been given more.  As a gift.  The gift of courage.  It has allowed me to educate myself to a level I never thought possible.  It has allowed me to raise my children to love both parents.  Equally.  It has allowed me to walk away from plenty because I know I can live on less.  It has given me the wisdom to see I am good at some things but not others.  It has allowed me to love, to lose, and, remain whole.

So, silent and still.  Facing the sun.  Basking in warmth.  Feet firmly planted on steady ground.  I am set to fly.

May the universe give you wings too.

Until next time

As always

a dawn bird