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The first gold leaf on the mulberry tree should have signalled the arrival of autumn.   But winter, in haste it seems, bumped autumn off the seasonal chart.  Taken by surprise the leaves clung to limbs before succumbing to relentless rain.  Not all is lost though.  When the sun shines, the garden ornaments, now buried shoulder deep in drying leaves project an air of autumn.  There is some comfort in order, in sequence, in predictability, so I’ve resisted calling my gardener for a clean up, at least, for now.

While the trees and shrubs shed leaves, the garden is bountiful.  The citrus trees are fruiting.  To my surprise, a shrub is glowing with lanterns of gooseberries.  Rare to find in the greengrocers, and when they do, it is usually in summer, so unseasonal fruit is a surprise.  There are hundreds of gooseberries on the shrub.  They appear as a pretty yellow flower, they curl into themselves only to appear as fruit.  The transformation is fascinating.  So far, I’ve found only one that has ripened in its crisp paper lantern.  It is the first fruit I’ve ever grown to fruition.  Tangy and sweet, it was delicious!

Far from country where resources are wrestled from earth, I am finding gold unexpectedly in my garden.  The birds are becoming accustomed to my benign presence.  I am keeping them company, instead of the other way around.  This, too, is an unexpected delight.

I am discovering the child in me again.  One that is curious.  One that hopes.  One that dreams.  And, when faced with reality, one that watches in wonder to find all things are possible.  Much like the tiny honeyeater.

Until next time

As always

a dawn bird

 

I visited the East Kimberley region of Western Australia a couple of years ago when, although winter, it was very hot up north.  Kununurra, a major town in this region is some 3000+ kms from Perth.  The beauty of this region is humbling and best enjoyed in silence.

Our hotel was just across the road from Lily Creek Lagoon.  Boab trees grew along the rim of the large creek.  It was hauntingly beautiful at daybreak.  The area has warning signs for freshwater crocodiles and although less aggressive than the deadly saltwater crocs, I was wary but found the surrounds irresistible.

Lake Argyle, a large artificial lake, is the lifeline of mining and agriculture, in this region.  This is also diamond country where the pink Argyle diamonds are found.  The landscape is more beautiful than the most expensive bling dug from earth.

About 400 kms away from Kununurra is Halls Creek, a historic gold mining town.  Just on the outskirts of town is China Wall, a quartz outcrop that erupts from the ground for several kilometres, rising from and disappearing into the red earth intermittently.  It is the longest known fault of its kind in the world.  In places, it is several meters high.  At the base is a pool with palm trees growing, an oasis, in this harsh beautiful country.  Unfortunately, to access it, the camera had to be left behind.

Raised with the fear of snakes, I initially resisted my companion’s urging to explore the oasis.  Like I said, it was hot.  I also know there is a simple equation in the bush, where there is water they are birds, small animals and, naturally, snakes.  Climbing down was easier than I anticipated.  The rocks were scorching hot.  They made our descent even quicker!  Once down we realised we hadn’t anticipated the challenge of summit.  Climbing over hot rocks, some more than a metre high, was made harder by our laughter, squeals of pain and fear of what could be lurking in the crevices!  Once in the car, I was exhilarated.

In looking over these pictures recently I had an overwhelming sense of accomplishment, a “I did it!” moment.   It fuelled me to reconsider what is my biggest challenge these days.  Running my own business, the work-life balance has been elusive and has been for a while.  The largely sedentary lifestyle of planes, cars and chairs has impacted my fitness.  It prevents me from working on my bucket list where there are gorges to visit and walking trails to explore.  It is stealing joy by stealth.

The insidious nature of stress is that one gets used to it.  Relaxation is the pole opposite and can make one feel uncomfortable.  To counter this I am starting slowly.  A walk every day.  Around the lake in good weather.  Undercover, in the shopping centre, when it rains.  Much to my surprise I wake each morning and allocate time to do this.  I leave my camera behind and enjoy being ‘in the moment’ where ever I am.  To do this requires art and science.

Although the science of behaviour modification is familiar to me, it took a New York journalist, Charles Duhigg’s book, ‘The Power of Habit’, to practice it.  My late father used to say, words are words, but it is how you hear them, matters.  My father was right.  Sometimes, words like diamonds, once chiselled and faceted, sparkle.

May you hear what you need to hear today.  And, may it change your life, for the better.

Until next time,

As always,

a dawn bird

 

He is a slender man with skin the colour of roasted coffee beans.  In his late twenties, I estimate quickly.  His taxi is as clean as his simple blue shirt.  He settles into the driver’s seat and lowers sunglasses over long lashed eyes.  I know he has caught my gaze in the rearview mirror.  When he smiles he is a boy again.  His dimples are deep.  I like him immediately.

As I close my eyes and sink lower into the backseat, he turns on the air con and asks if I’m comfortable.  A thoughtful gesture that makes my eyes glisten in a world of competing demands.  I enjoy the solitude for a few seconds.  Unable to tolerate the silence he blurts out, “I remember you.  You are the lady who works very hard for her family.”  I try and minimise my lifestyle amid his insistent, “no, no, you travel a lot”.   He remembers our previous conversation in vivid detail.  He asks if I’m going to Broome again.  I now remember him, as among other things, we had talked about camels.  He is from the Middle East and as a child was a witness to the unspeakable terror of war.  I’m ashamed he has remembered more about me than I have of him.

He talks impulsively.  Recalling our previous conversation, he tells me he too has a bucket list now.  He wants to provide for his young children like I have done for mine.  It is possible in “this beautiful country” to achieve this, “if you work hard”.  I sense this is his daily mantra.

He has no other plans than to give his children a childhood they remember rather than one he tries hard to forget.

I knew I liked him the moment I met him.  This time I don’t want to forget him, so I offer him a home where I live, the space between the keyboard and screen.

And, perhaps, in your thoughts, when you meet or see someone like him.

Until next time,

As always,

a dawn bird

It is my first weekend home without external demands.  I’ve enjoyed working at my own pace and targeted chores that were meaningful to me.  As the day winds down I can’t help but remember some of the far away spaces where I was just a mere speck in an enormous land.  This came to mind …

I am seated outdoors at a regional airport, the building is no bigger than a suburban home.  The luggage is off loaded in an open shed.  The word Security is not part of spoken or written language around these parts.  There are no warnings to travellers about their unattended luggage or cars blocking the entrance.  The car park is spacious with 20 bays.  There is no need to park at the door.  This is country life.  The shed is empty now after a small spill of people emerged from the flight that will take me back home.  The announcer says passengers will depart from Gate 1.  It is a superfluous announcement.  There is no Gate 2.  Indoors, my frame is just below the level of heavy backpacks.  The miners are going home too.  I am safer outside until the crush at the small check in counter dissipates.  Near me are two young men, dressed in tee-shirts, jeans and new steel capped shoes.  Their mining uniform is tucked into the gym bag, their hard hat, two sizes too small, sits atop their head like a crown.  Their arms and chest are smooth sculptured muscle, large enough to provide a backdrop for tribal designs to be inked into their skin.  Fresh out of university, the young engineers flaunt their salary in body art.  At right angles sits The Old Timer, his face aged faster by the sun than years.  His legs are stretched out in front of him.  People, including me, respect his space and step over his dusty boots carefully.  He is comfortable in the usual uniform of the area, the reflective stripes glowing bright against the red dust he wears.

The Old Timer sucks at his hand rolled cigarette throwing his head back to take in every bit of smoke into his lungs that crackle like electricity.  He turns his head to the left and blows out steadily.  At the end, the effort convulses his body into a coughing fit.  When he catches his breath he closes his eyes and is deep in thought.  The two young men are waiting for him to speak and in those seconds, the graphic on their laptop screen collapses and then resurrects itself upwards in a kaleidoscope of beautiful colours.  The same graphic is in the Old Timer’s head.  He sees it covered in dust.  He knows it well.  It has not moved in years.  It has always been the same colour.  He speaks slowly, “I reckon”, he pauses, eyes closed.  “It’s the third valve on the right that’s carked it.  Fix ‘er and that water pump will run.  Sweet as.”  A stream of smoke fills the silence when he stops speaking.  The two men focus on the computer again conferring softly.  His wisdom shared, the Old Timer stands up, the momentum makes his back arch back, a little too far, or perhaps it is the weight of his stomach on spindley legs.  One young man laughs and says something inaudible but the Old Timer hears the comment.  When his coughing subsides he states emphatically, “Bin smokin 40 years.  Buggered if I stop now.”  With that parting shot, he gets into his 4WD with dust licking the sides like flames, and drives away, leaving behind his absence in the shed a void that is wider and deeper, from where he came.

His kind is iconic of this region, deep in mining country, but sadly, few and far between.  So it is not surprising, the memory of his honest eyes, watery and as blue as the sea he has not seen, is what I take home with me and now share with you.

Until next time,

As always,

a dawn bird

Some Australian flora need the intensity of a bushfire to bloom.  The hard exterior hides the most beautiful, delicate flowers in colours of white, cream, gold, orange, red, and pink.  I find this in people too.  The toughest, most disgruntled person, can have a kind moment. A generous moment.  A soft spot.  A chink in their armour, where something beautiful resides.

My last trip, for now, just happened to be to Kalgoorlie, the wild, wild, west gold mining town.  Much to my surprise I’ve come to enjoy my trips here.  Through my camera, I see it with new eyes.  The recent heavy rainfall over this parched arid landscape has transformed it.  New gum nuts are waiting to burst with colour and will be in bloom when I visit next.  For now, they hang, covered in silver, in boughs of softest grey-green.

The short ten minute drive to the hotel from the airport is an interesting one.  The taxi driver, a mountain of a man, lumbers out of his seat to load my suitcase into the boot.  I have met him on several occasions on prior trips.  He has found a way to communicate with me after the first silent ride.  He is well over 6 ft something.  Heavy of build.  Hair and beard that have been untrimmed for years.  He wears predominantly black clothing and big leather boots.  A belt, the size of a conveyor belt, props up his belly.  He is a poster child of a life lived on his terms.

Buckled in, I tell him it’s my last trip for a while and surprisingly I’m experiencing a sense of sadness of not being in the Goldfields for a while.  He takes over the conversation.  He has lived 54 of his 58 years in this town.  His voice is now filled with affection and warmth as he tells me about his grandmother and mother, also locals of these parts.  He is a child of this land.  In the dark of the cab, I am a child too, as I listen in awe to what he tells me.

He tells me about his trips bush where he goes shooting feral animals, for the pet meat industry, with a friend.  In a hushed voice, (“You should see …”), he shares the secrets of the landscape and about the carpets of wildflowers in regions around the Goldfields in late August, early September.  There are Sturt Desert Peas, and pink and white everlastings, banksia, acacia and gum, all flowering across acres of flat land and over ridges.  A fire in recent years has resulted in a blaze of colours across a landscape that is usually blue of sky and red of earth.  There are huge billabongs, water holes, where all kinds of birds visit and stain the sky with colour when they lift off en masse.  He talks about the clear nights under a canopy of a million stars while billy tea is brewing and damper is being baked in ashes.  “Ah! there’s nothing like it!”  he states softly and with conviction, confirming it to himself.  He paints pictures in words and, enthralled, I almost asked him to take me with him!

Warm in my hotel bed, in the still moments before sleep, I planned my trip driving across this countryside in spring.  I want to experience the land of story.

Like I’ve said before, there are no coincidences.  Some things are just meant to be.

May you experience a happy encounter today.  One that transforms the ordinary, into extraordinary.

As always,

a dawn bird

 

A colleague recently asked me when would I stop working.  Three years came to mind immediately.  Why?  I’m not sure.  But, it’s a good span of years.  Not too distant, and not too immediate.  On reflection, I’m not sure what retirement would mean to me.  I’m enjoying life the way it is and the way it was meant to be, for me.

Looking back on my work history, I realised I have worked with keyboards for a long time and learnt to touch type on a manual typewriter.  A S D F.  You know the drill.  Changing inky ribbons was a chore on clumsy days.  Moving overseas I was introduced to the electric typewriter.  Only the senior secretary was allowed to have one.  Observing her type on it was a thrill!  Working for a science professor meant changing fonts by lifting the ball head for italicized letters or Greek symbols, a tedious task by any account.  Then came the word processer, the size of a room, followed soon after by the little boxy Mac.  I wrote this seated in a small plane typing on my laptop.  Just like technology, I’ve come a long way.

Did I ever have ambition?  If doing something different to what I was doing is ambition, then yes, I did have ambition.  Did I aim to be materially successful?  I can’t recall thinking along those lines.  I just wanted to be happy doing what I was doing.  Working 9-5 in an office never satisfied me and gnawed at my insides like hunger.

Seated high above the clouds I found myself looking outside the window.  The landscape is a familiar one.  Once past the bumps along the Perth Hills, the land has dark splashes of forest that give way to a patchwork of gold and green farmland.  The closer we get to Esperance, pink spots in the green fields appear, where algae transforms drinking holes periodically.  This is my route to work every month.  It beats the gridlock of city traffic any day!

In Esperance I drive by the golf course and keep an eye out for the Cape Barren Geese.  If they are around, they flock here.  In over 30 trips to Esperance I’ve only seen them twice.  Once in formation overhead and once on the ground.  They are iconic around these parts but seeing them is never guaranteed.  They are considered to be some of the rarest geese on earth.  So I’ve posted some photographs to share as I find the geese endearing.  The geese are large, almost prehistoric looking.  They have a tab stuck to the top of their beak.  I’m sure it is functional in some way, but it looks like an afterthought!  Large on the ground, they are graceful in flight, a feathered airliner.  They are expert navigators.

My work has opened up new worlds to me.  Never would I have dreamed this was possible for the young woman who worked for others.  I am now my own boss.  Like the geese, I have navigated my way through life, at least, thus far, successfully.  I work for pleasure, the rewards and gains, are incidental.

Until next time,

As always,

a dawn bird

 

 

The small turbo engine plane found its way out of Perth through a blue eye that peered from a darkened sky.  Just over an hour later, it was late afternoon when I arrived in Esperance.  It felt like the middle of winter.  Cold, dark, wet and windy. In fields, now greener than they were last month, black faced sheep kept their lambs close to them.  Closer to my hotel, the young Pacific Gull fished out a crab and feasted on it in my presence.  Perhaps the animals sensed the imminent storm that was to hit the next day.

I woke to the sound of rain.  The Bay, usually calm, gushed waves over the rock wall.  It rained for hours.  The wind howled.  With no electricity, none of the three cafes could serve early breakfast.  I went to work hungry and craving a hot coffee.  The weather was consistent all day.  Just after ten am I felt the sofa slide, just a bit, to the left.  Then heard and felt the grind of rock on rock.  Alarmed I looked at the person I was with.  She confirmed “that’s an earthquake”!  It was a tremor from a 4.4 earthquake in another town, some 200 kms away.  The 11^th tremor to be felt in Esperance in a few days.

Trapped in a hotel due to poor weather, I craved being outdoors with my camera.  The gods were kind to me.  As I drove to the airport to return home, the sun came out briefly.  I took five minutes to drive to Lake Warden and found winter colour in the bush.  The yellow acacia tree was in full bloom.  So also the red bottlebrush.  Gorgeous pink flowers hung low on the Silver Princess gum trees while pink protea below waited to bloom.  I also found some very delicate gum flowers, pale pink almost lavender.  I hadn’t seen these before.  In a field across the road, the sun shone brighter for a few seconds, illuminating the blonde Scottish Highland cattle and setting it aglow.  These are moments captured to savour in my own time.

They say pink is the colour of hope.  The word Esperance, translated in French, means hope.  It is also known for the Pink Lake.  But never before have I enjoyed the pinks of Esperance as I did this trip when it was dark and grey.  The pinks in blooms were vivid.  In the midst of winter, they signalled spring.  And why shouldn’t they?  Isn’t that what hope is all about?

Until next time,

As always,

a dawn bird

My routine is pretty set at the airport.  I go through Security and head straight to the book shop.  It is getting increasingly difficult to buy something I don’t already have.  On my last trip, a lone book in the Bestsellers section caught my eye, ‘The Power of Habit’ by Charles Duhigg.  As I paid for it the cashier commented, she had just ordered more books as this one “just flew out the door”.  As I read it, I hoped the book impacts others in a positive way as it seems to have done for me, in a few short days.

I don’t believe in coincidences.  I believe everything happens for a reason.  We may not know why, how or where.  But, there is purpose in every interaction.  While waiting for the flight, delayed yet again, as I put away my book, someone near me took the opportunity to strike up a conversation telling me the details of her visit to the city.  More than 12 years younger than me, a few kilos lighter and no risk factors in her life or family history, she had recently suffered a heart attack.  Her doctors told her the only thing missing in her lifestyle was exercise.  She is busy with family and community, she stated, so she drives everywhere.  I took note.  Like I said, there are no coincidences in life.  She, together with the book, I believe, changed mine over a few days, and will continue to change mine in the days to come.

I have been living under the misconception, I eat healthy.  I don’t buy cakes, muffins or biscuits for the home.  I only eat them if I bake them myself.  The only time I buy butter is when I bake.  I don’t buy sugared boxed cereals.  I rarely buy bread.  I eat bacon very rarely.  It’s been more than 25 years since I ate junk food chicken and have no intention to eating it any time soon.  I rarely eat pizza or hamburgers.  A novelty in town, I ate a Krispy Kreme doughnut two years ago.  I try and eat ‘oily’ fish (salmon, sardines) at least twice a week.  But, when I reflect, I am cued by my environment when I’m not home and without realising it, I have developed unhealthy habits.  At a hotel where breakfast is included I eat toast with butter and marmalade, I eat tinned fruit, boxed cereal.  All the foods I don’t ordinarily eat … just because I anticipate a busy day with no breaks.  I eat a packet of potato chips on the flight (something I never buy).  Staying away from fish or chicken when I travel, I eat steak at least ten times a month.  There is no way around it.  My diet is unhealthy.  So when cued, I made a choice.  A conscious choice to change a habit and doing so I found, by lunch time I consumed over 600 calories less than I normally would have in a day and I was not hungry.  If I kept this up, over a year, it is close to 100,000 calories less than I would have eaten.  And, that is just a change in breakfast and midmorning snack!

With the surprising revelation of my unhealthy dietary habits, the challenge now is to find time to fit in exercise.  Wish me luck!

There are no photographs with this post.  Just words.  Because, it is the words of strangers that made a difference in my life.  If you are struggling with similar dilemmas, my wish is that you, too, find a way to enhance your lifestyle and life.

As always

a dawn bird

Often we expect things to be the same, just because they were the previous time.

Take for example my recent trip to the Pilbara.  I love the hotel I stay at and happily got an opportunity three times in two months to do just that.  I’ve mentioned before, the hotel is an oasis in rugged mining country.  So, of course, I was expecting the frangipanis and birds to be as abundant as they were on previous trips.  Sadly, I did not anticipate seasonal changes.  I spotted only two honeyeaters in the hotel grounds.  I found the zebra finch enjoyed skimming the road side verges along the highway, in preference to the garden lawns.  Perhaps what was growing there is what they need at this time of year.  At 70 km/hr and no safe place to stop, I could only catch a glimpse of them as I sped along.   There were changes in the frangipanis too.  The brilliant white flowers took a step back and the beautiful pinks have taken centre stage.  I also noticed some in shades of peachy mango but leaving early in the morning, did not get a chance to see them respond to the sun command, “Bloom!”

But, this trip, I saw the Pilbara in her natural beauty.  The rugged landscape.  The native resilient flora.  The Sturt Desert Pea was growing in the scrub near the car park.  These had a red centre and not the distinctive ‘black eye’.  And, a tree caught my eye.  I thought I saw tinsel streaming off branches.  It looked stunning under a fierce afternoon sun.  So I turned around and although I could see the shimmering sparkle with my eye, the camera could not pick up the sun on the long seed pods that glistened tantalisingly.  Nature can be a beguiling seductress!  On the way to the airport to pick up a colleague who arrived on a later flight, I stopped about a kilometre away from the entrance, in a small area near the salt pans where I know is frequented by birds.  While texting a friend to while away the time I took a few photographs.  In the vastness of the landscape I found, some subjects add delicacy while making a bigger contribution to the overall moment.

On the flight home I scanned through my photographs.  The perfection in a frangipani, yet to bloom, came into sharper focus.  I leaned into my seat satisfied I had got the pictures I wanted.  Glancing outside the window I found the colours I had seen in the flower were reflected in a Pilbara sunset.  I returned home with more than what I anticipated.

Like I say, it’s how you see it …

May your eye see ‘it’ today.

As always

a dawn bird

 

I have been in a work frenzy, task focused and meeting deadlines, with all goals leading to having the month of June off.  Well, mostly off, with the exception of two work trips.  My plan is to start the new financial year with a clean slate and new goals to achieve.

My home has been under intermittent renovations for the past two years.  The floors are finally going to be laid.  It means the dust is contained and I can start unpacking my furniture and make this large house into a home.  The thought of nesting is exciting and energising.  My children have been waiting with bated breath to see the final outcome.  Much like me.  This home has been a dream.  It is now my reality.  Over twenty years ago when the parcel of land near the lake was released, due to circumstances beyond my control, I ended up living about half a kilometre away.  I was a visitor to this part of the suburb.  Now, it is home.  The difference in the environment around both homes in astounding.  My current home has butterflies in the garden.  Birdlife is prolific.  I am walking distance to the lake.  It has set a new benchmark.  Now, when browsing through real estate, a home for retirement, the criteria have been defined by my current home.

I have planned to be somewhere else for a few days in June.  Putting up my feet is top of the agenda!  The last time I felt so relaxed was over a year ago.  I was in Exmouth, a beautiful place north of Perth.  I recall the afternoon this picture was taken.  My room overlooked the water, there was birdlife everywhere.  It was hot.  Less than a month later the town was slammed by a cyclone with winds of 180km/hr that destroyed the infrastructure.  At the time, it was hard to believe the road to this idyllic place could be left in ruins.  But, the location makes the town vulnerable to cyclones.  The locals ride them out.  They just hold on through the eye of the storm.  Some people do this well.

The toss up of the warmth of Broome or the chilly, lush green of the south-west is the only dilemma at the moment.  A chalet, warm fireplace, good wine and cheese. books and writing is the drawcard for the south.  I am always hopeful, too, I will get to photograph the elusive fairy blue wren.  They are exquisite.  Then, there’s Broome.  Beautiful Broome.  Empty beach with muted pastel sky in the morning and fiery skies and chilled cider at sunset.  It is one of the few places where I really relax.

Having reflected on my choices, it is quite possible, I may visit both places!

May the choices you make today, bring you joy.

As always,

a dawn bird

 

Today is National Sorry Day in Australia.  A day set aside by government to express a national apology for previous policies.  Policies that took children away from Aboriginal families, thinking it was better for the children, now known as The Stolen Generation.  The aftermath on generations to follow has been complex and, undeniably, tragic.

I am reading Stan Grant’s book ‘Talking to my Country’.  Part Aboriginal, he is a respected Australian journalist.  His book is as richly eloquent as is his heritage.  Yet, I’m uncomfortable as I turn page after page.

When I first came to Australia I was struck by its young history, ignorant of the fact, the First People of this land were here thousands of years ago.  I am sorry for my ignorance.

My travel takes me to many parts of Western Australia.  It strikes me how difficult it must have been for the pioneers and the hardship they would have endured to settle in a strange land.  It is only when I have travelled north, to the Kimberley region, when I have truly appreciated the culture of the Aboriginal people.  The land is ancient.  It demands respect.

The enormous landscape of the north makes one feel small but not in a belittling way.  It speaks to one in volumes.  It speaks to one in silence.

It is what you find in the long pauses of those who try and share with you what it was like for their ancestors.  The disconnection.  The reunification.  The despair.  The loss of kin.

Some voids are never filled by the word, sorry.

 

 

 

 

 

 

I have become accustomed to the birdlife in my neighbourhood while writing.  The corellas move around the tops of gum trees to the grass below, in noisy hordes.  The rainbow lorikeet fly in pairs almost squealing in excitement, as they do.  The crows are loud with their mournful caw caaw cawwwww.  I know the bigger water birds are overhead, headed to or from the lake, by the flapping of their wings.  The wattlebirds have a staccato call.  The kookaburra’s laughter often stays rumbling in his throat and is let out more often in summer.  The magpie larks sound as highly strung as they look.  The Australian magpie’s call comes from deep within and eventually finds its way through the curve of its body.  The honeyeaters have a sweet, tiny call.  The Willy Wagtail’s call sounds like a pocketful of change being jingled. But yesterday, mid-morning, while working at my desk I was distracted by a bird call I had not heard before.   This bird call sounded distressed.

I looked out the window to find a chick, a honeyeater.  Seated at the top of the wall, it chirped and looked around anxiously.  The mother was busy feeding on the aphids off the roses nearby below, just out of sight.  Too intent on her feeding, she ignored the call.  Surprisingly, the Willy Wagtail who dominates the ground below, flew up to the top of the wall.  It did not flash its tail as it does frequently.  It just sat near the tiny bird, scanning.  The chick stopped calling and settled into silence.  They sat together for several minutes until the mother noticed the duo and joined them.  The Willy Wagtail then flew below to flash his tail.  There was nothing aggressive or opportunistic about the usually territorial Wagtail.  His presence was a calming influence on the tiny bird.

I believe what I witnessed yesterday was a genuine attempt to soothe a chick in distress.  Effectively, too.  The Willy Wagtail usually moves continually.  But in the moment, he sat calmly.  “I am with you”, his presence seemed to say.

It made me reflect on my circumstances at the moment.  Waiting for guaranteed work is stressful.  It leaves me vulnerable.  The only certainty in my life is my faith.  My personal understanding of faith, is accepting God’s presence in my life.  It is working with the full knowledge my path has been earmarked for me.  All I need to do is make good choices.  When I find it difficult to cope with uncertainty in day to day matters, my eyes fall on the small magnet on the fridge that says, “I am with you” Matt 28:20.  And, like that tiny vulnerable bird on the wall, I am calm again.

May you find a calming presence in your life today.

As always,

a dawn bird

 

 

Friday was a perfect autumn day.  Clear skies, mild weather.  The Pacific black ducks glided on the pond.  The roses in my garden bloomed summer.  I found the straggly slender tree in my garden that erupts, seemingly overnight with a canopy of delicate white flowers, had also bloomed.  They are the only hint of autumn in my garden.  Magnificent in flower, the tree looks weak and weedy at other times of the year.  I’ve come to love it.  The tree makes me look skywards.  It was the kind of day when you scoff at the weather report “A big storm is coming”, “one of the big cells to hit” (apparently we get five of these a year), “secure boats and outdoor furniture”, the usual drill.  Like I said, it was a perfect day, so it was hard to see beyond it.  By evening, the sky scowled with clouds.  I have never seen such massive, dark clouds over Perth.  They gathered over the ocean first, like an army, cloud after cloud, battalion after battalion, until the horizon was a mass of black.  By the early hours of Saturday, the storm slammed the city, in fact, most of the lower half of the State.  When you consider Western Australia covers a third of Australia, that’s a big storm!

Alone while the storm raged, I cowered with a blanket and cuppa for comfort.  The house creaked, the roof rattled, the palm trees squeaked and groaned.  There was just one flash of lightening.  No thunder.  Just wind and rain.  Lots of it.  It came in waves with just silence to cushion the next onslaught.  Then I heard the crash.  I went around the home checking.  No damage.  Looked outside and saw the common fence had collapsed.  Luckily my neighbours were away or their car would have been damaged.  I surveyed the damage alone and soon found I had quiet company.  The little honeyeater from the back garden joined me.  Also scanning the sky, I could have sworn, she looked concerned too.  Hours later my neighbours returned.  I advised them I could not reach the insurance folks and I was leaving home again for work.  Her husband reassured me not to worry.  He would call around for quotes and take care of the matter while I was away.  I always thought they were good people.  They showed me yesterday, they are.

It is in moments like this when I feel the sting of being on my own.  It is also in moments like this, I am proved wrong.  It reminds me of The Leaning Tree, an iconic tourist landmark, somewhere between Greenough and Geraldton, in the mid-west of the State.  In these parts there are many trees that grow leaning at an angle due to the winds that come from the ocean.  The Leaning Tree is special, bent, but not broken, this massive tree continued to grow horizontally across the land.  Just alongside the highway, it is a good place to stop and pause.  Reflect.

I’ve come to learn, at breaking point, it is at that juncture, perceived to be the weakest, the most vulnerable, when strength, growth, is the finest.  To make it happen, perception, is the catalyst.

Until next time,

As always

a dawn bird

 

 

 

Several hundred kilometres to the south east of home, I drove along a back road in the country early one morning.  I was careful as it had rained the night before.  A little rain on once dry roads is dangerous.  A movement caught my eye.  Just a tiny, imperceptible movement.  Thinking it was a drop of rain on a puddle of water I stopped.  Hoping to catch it in motion, I got my camera ready and was delighted when I zoomed in.

A group of yellow rumped thornbills, aka ‘button bums’ were bathing in the puddle.  They were oblivious to the world beyond.  They are prolific in this region but incredibly difficult to see in the shrub.  To find them in the open and not afraid of my presence was a feeling of sheer joy.  Watching them, even more so.  They immersed themselves wholeheartedly in the water.  Except for one.  She leaned in cautiously, legs stiffened and at an angle, hoping for a small dip.  Leaning too far, she fell into the water.  Once experiencing the pleasure, she joined her group in play.

I’ve had a very focused week of catch up.  I’ve also had to reflect on the past and now.  As a mother with very young children, work and study, I managed to get it all done, including getting children to extracurricular activities after school.  I’m not sure how I did it but a 24 hour day was elastic.  I did not see life as weeks, months and years.  I lived a day at a time.  Although other tasks were completed, my thesis never seemed to finish.  I woke to it.  I slept by it.  I had a phrase written on a Post It sticker and stuck on the computer:  “A thesis is written a word at a time”.  It helped and guided me.  Writing was not difficult.  Getting a 100,000 word thesis into a 50,000 word document, was.  It consumed me for years, but I found joy in the doing and completion.  It was mission accomplished, when it was.

For twenty years, I have somehow been able to create joy in what I do, even when it is work.  Making a list of tasks and working through brings satisfaction.  I never have a completed ‘to do’ list but I prioritise tasks for the day so I am productive every day.  I sleep better with that knowledge.  Somehow, the play, the joy, comes from the process of listing.  The task itself can be tedious, but the pleasure is in the completion and checking it off the list. Once done, I enjoy my time outdoors with my camera.  There is a behavioural science basis to this.  It works well for me.

I have passed these behavioural strategies to my children without knowing it.  Staying overnight at my daughter’s home, I found a list on her table.  A neat list of tasks, crossed off as she completed them.  Like the little yellow rumped thornbill she is now fully immersed.

Today, I have experienced joy by reflecting on the meaning of this, in my world.  May you, too, experience joy in your world.

Until next time,

As always,

a dawn bird

Standing on Willare Bridge, between Derby and Broome, in the far north west, some 2000 km away from Perth, I watched a wild bull swim across the Fitzroy River.  The area is known for crocodiles.  Perhaps, it was his previous experiences that gave him confidence in his ability to get to the other side.  And, he did.  I’ve reflected on this picture many times since December last year.  It resonates on a deeper level.

As I mentioned in the previous post, there was a time when I lived in a world of uncertainty.  Financial uncertainty is never an easy thing to manage, especially when you have children who are dependent on you.  I had nothing to keep body and soul together except my faith.  I recall a time when I had just enough petrol in the car to either get me to university or to my part time work.  I hated missing lectures but if I didn’t get to work, I would not get paid, so, reluctantly, work it was that day.  Deep in decision-making I walked from my front door to my car in the driveway and to my right, from the corner of my eye I saw something flutter in the breeze.  I ignored it.  Unlocking my car I thought, if my children were with me I would expect them to pick up the garbage and put it into the bin.  My father always said, personal integrity is what you do, when no one is looking.  I retraced my steps to the rose bush and to my amazement, fluttering in the breeze was a $50 bill.

On another occasion I was seated in a noisy cafe at the skating rink while my children were enjoying a small birthday party.  Just the two of them and four friends.  I could not afford anything more than the price for the smallest group.  Trying to study while they squealed with delight every time they whizzed by I felt sadness that I could not give them more.  I had spent most of my budget that week on the party and wondered how I would budget for the coming few days until I got paid again.  I felt a tap on my shoulder and the manager returned the money I paid him, saying the children were having such a good time, he wanted to give me the party for free.

There were many, many instances like this in those years.  I have no explanation except to say, I had implicit faith, I and the children would be okay.  And, we are.  We have crossed over to the other side.

Now my faith gets tested and strengthened in different ways.  My work is dependent on decision making of others.  The last two months have been an uncomfortable time.  I will always find work because of my profession.  But it’s the work I love doing is what I have been fretting about.  I’ve had to remind myself in those moments of uneasy … you gotta have faith.

I woke to a wide, pink sky this morning and felt a frisson of excitement.  I woke to the knowledge, all is well.

May it be so in your world too.

As always,

a dawn bird