I’ve just returned from Esperance. It is probably the first trip in dozens that I did not visit magnificent West Beach. There was something in the air at Woody Lake that kept me there, something more than the fact I was on my own at dusk and early morning. I got there early and waited. I’m not sure for what. I just surrendered to the serenity of the moment that lasted two hours this morning.
The kangaroos were too quick to photograph and disappeared into the scrub before I could focus. Soon there was birdsong. Nothing I have heard before. It was a nursery choir with unfamiliar sounds, all tuning up to perfect one day. But not today. Today, the off key cacophony made me smile.
The scrub was filled with little chicks.
Not yet afraid, the Silvereye held on …
To catch this tiny bird at breakfast with an even tinier spider made my day.
It was as curious about me as I was of it. I wandered around for a couple of hours and as I was leaving I spotted something white in the scrub.
A tiny, fluffy grey fantail chick.
With sun beaming at, or was it from, her chest. I was dazzled.
Another juvenile played hide and seek, with several attempts at spreading the tail.
There was another chick
And another, resting after play.
And my first ever glimpse of a juvenile cuckoo.
Where does this delight in birds come from? Perhaps it is this …
As a child I yearned to be free. Free as a bird I would say to my mother who tightened apron strings. Even birds have to conform to the flock she would caution, or they die. I thought I was invincible, as I threw a “Not me!” over my shoulder and out the door.
I believe I knew what I wanted from about the age of six and every step of my life’s journey has been activated, framed, motivated by that one desire. To be free. I’m not sure what I wanted to be free of, but I knew I wanted freedom.
I believe I’ve achieved my childhood dreams. Is it karma?
I have lived a life of freedom and on my terms. Every step I have taken, every decision made, has led me to this point. I have not lived life passively or as an observer. I have lived my life, as intended. And, I’m not done yet.
Karma is not a b*tch. It is not life’s punishment for something bad you may have done, or rewarding you for something you have done right.
Karma is not a backward glance. Karma is filled with hope and is forward thinking. It is an acceptance, at any point of one’s life, one has the ability to change the course of how one lives, if one chooses to do this. It’s taken a long time to come to this realisation. So I start new each day. Yes, life can be that simple for me.
May your steps today lead to good karma.
Until next time
As always
a dawn bird
There was just one other car in the car park when I got there early morning. As I walked along the coastal walk, I found it belonged to a young fisherman wetting a line in the distance.
The waters here are generally calm but on this day there was a swell coming through. Hopefully he got what he came for. I know I did.
The birds were not awake yet so I spent some time looking at the path I walked, metaphorically speaking too. I found one can find colour in the most unexpected bland places.
A gumnut caught my eye. It rolled down an embankment and came to rest against a small edge of a big rock. A cm here or there would have made a difference to where it landed and perhaps, never seen by me. Much like chance encounters.
I love dragonflies. I mean, what’s not to love about them. They have wings of sheer shimmering lace and yet they are long distance fliers. I find strength in that.
Soon my walk was filled with sound. The little Silvereye were everywhere.
And if you ever want to see kookaburra, Meelup Beach is the place. They were at least a dozen birds sitting on low branches or foraging in the leafy carpet.
Then there was this one who decided to do a full dive into the water and came out looking like a rag! 
High in a nearby tree I heard the plaintive cry of a young eagle as it rose up to stand in the nest.
Magnificent bird.
I was glad I got here early. I had the opportunity to enjoy silence before the laughter of families. Although I confess, I enjoyed both equally.
I stood at the window and there it was. Flitting around under the patio. It feeds off the insects in the cobwebs, and flies around with ‘crumbs’ stuck to his face. I watched it practice fantail, unsuccessfully, and smiled like a parent while gazing at it with affection.
The tiny silvereye was young and bold, sitting exposed and facing the sun.
The Willy Wagtail chick was shiny as a new penny …
looking intently into the distance with wisdom in beady eyes.
The young crested pigeon was gorgeous with ruffled feathers.
What delighted me the most was the juvenile grey fantail.
This little one had the sweetest call, an overture that filled the canopy it sat underneath.
Then a moment of quiet, except for my heartbeat.
The young wattle bird found a perch here and there on banksia cones. The distinctive metallic call silenced, or perhaps not yet developed.
This is the first time I’ve seen a Western spinebill and try as I may, I could not get a better pic but I know I’ll be back next year for it.
One of my favourite proverbs is “When one helps another, both are stronger”. I believe it is a German proverb. The picture above illustrates this. I’m told these birds bead together, wing to wing, to appear larger to raptors. If birds help each other, have humans lost the art and science of helping? I don’t believe so. The following story gives me hope.
Poised on the grassy bank.
Or feeding
The blues shimmer into indigo and purple when they move.
They are usually shy but also protective. Their warning call is a fearsome screech.
This was a rare sighting of a chick this spring.
I know the Welcome Swallows love sitting on the rails, facing the sun. Sometimes they get used to my presence and accommodate my curiosity. I’ve learned to extend the lens only when they look away, as movement is always a signal for flight.
To my surprise I found some Swallows on the ground near my feet. 
Fear set aside, they were busy with nest building, focused on task.
A slight movement from the corner of my eye caught my attention, a fairy blue wren darting and hopping among the foliage. No matter how many times I see them, the flash of blue always makes my heart skip a beat. 
The male wren stood still for a moment. So perfect. It looked like an enamelled ornament, with blues upon blues found in sky and sea.
In contrast, the female’s beauty, is subtle. Perhaps this is nature’s intention.
While the male distracts she tends to her family, almost invisible, among debris.
I got to Bunbury just moments before the sun slipped into the Indian Ocean. A moment of pause for me and others too it would seem.
This morning I was up early and headed to Big Swamp where the bottlebrush is blooming.
Among the reedy grass I caught a glimpse of a swamp hen chick, not yet purple, blue and red.
The Welcome Swallow chick was a delightful ball of fluffy feathers. It is so new, it didn’t know fear of me.
There were chicks every where making a silent call for food.
A young New Holland honeyeater obliged with a moment of stillness.
Then came the Splendid Blue Fairy Wren, in his gorgeous feathers of blue.
After a frantic game of chase, he rested with his mate.
On the other side of the boardwalk, the big cormorant ignored my presence. I’ve not seen this type of cormorant here before. It sat on the branch for the whole of two hours I was there. Probably still there!
Her garden is a delight. I stop to take a picture here and there.
The ornamental almond tree was frosted white.
The ornamental peach tree bloomed elsewhere.
There were bulbs bejewelled with bees.
I found this in one corner, my camera sees what she hasn’t in a long time. “How on earth did that bloom there?”, she asks me, and we both laugh at her surprise. 
I loved the white flowers in another corner and asked her what they were. She tells me, they are English May, a cutting from her grandmother’s garden. It’s something she cherishes. Not hard to see why.
She is seated on a plastic chair, crutches to the side, water hose in hand dousing dirt in front of her with about 15 silver eye keeping her company. They dig into the damp soil for tasty morsels. She giggles like a little girl at their antics.
I went where I had lunch one afternoon. There’s a cafe to the right of this with beautiful views over water. But no, I wanted to be in the scrub! To my delight the place was teeming with birds. I know them well enough by the call.
I found a tiny male zebra finch with wisdom in his eyes.
Then there was the female finch. She flew up, caught the blade of grass in her beak and slid down, showering grass seeds on the ground. She then fed in privacy in the tall grass. Clever!
Ever watchful, high in thick scrub, were a pair of rainbow bee eaters. Aloof, silent, predatory.
The yellow honey eaters, feasted on flowers, their maniacal laughter-like call, harsh, for such a pretty bird.
With ‘lipsticked lips’ pursed tightly shut, the Pacific Gull was dignified in defeat as silver sea gulls stole lunch and flew away screeching. 
The Brahminy kite (I think), from the highest vantage point, watched all, then flew away silently.
A Shared Space 
You must be logged in to post a comment.