I worked a long day yesterday. By night I needed reflection.
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.
Reflections on my experiences last night gave me a new understanding, life is not the journey we are given, but how we choose to travel. I recalled this in a poem which says it better, so I’d like to share it with you today …
A Strong Woman vs a Woman of Strength
A strong woman works out every day to keep her body in shape …
but a woman of strength builds relationships to keep her soul in shape.
A strong woman isn’t afraid of anything …
but a woman of strength shows courage in the midst of fear.
A strong woman won’t let anyone get the better of her …
but the woman of strength gives the best of herself to everyone.
A strong woman makes mistakes and avoids the same in the future …
A woman of strength realises life’s mistakes can also be unexpected blessings, and capitalises on them.
A strong woman wears a look of confidence on her face …
but a woman of strength wears grace.
A strong woman has faith that she is strong enough for the journey …
but the woman of strength has faith that it is in the journey that she will become strong.(Author Unknown) cited in a book ‘The Voice of Silence’ by Oonagh Shanley Toffolo.
May all the steps you take today, make you stronger.
Until next time
As always
a dawn bird
I went for a quick walk and when I returned to the property, something fell from the tree in front of me.
A pair of white breasted robins. 
One was friendly and stayed with me. Or perhaps, I was following.
The delight of company!
Both equally curious about the other.
My hands shook with delight so I tried hard to relax, so did the robin.
It hopped and flew all around me.
The other hid behind pots but managed one shy look, and retreated again.
Curiosity
In my garden a lone purple rose is blooming. The bees are having a pollen spa. They are fascinating to watch.
In the backyard the rainbow lorikeet added colour to any otherwise ordinary day.
I’m dreaming of far away places, like Broome. Time to go there.
But for now, I’m off to Esperance again. It promises to be cold, wet and windy. But always beautiful, even if the only light is an (unknown) berry in the garden, that glows.
Roadside in Balingup where wild freesias grow.
Then there’s Donnybrook. Known for apples and orchards. I have to spend a few days here and so looking forward to it.
On the way to Margaret River, our premier wine country, I’m looking forward to a walk along Geographe Bay. I’ve walked the 1.8 km Busselton Jetty and this time, weather permitting, visiting the underwater viewing area is on my list.
I always love Margaret River in winter. A chalet, good cheese, a good red, blanket and book fireside, and I’m happy. Of course, there’s also the added attraction of tiny wrens!
I’m hoping to find some time to walk in the Perth Hills. I’m not sure what’s blooming at this time of year. I’m never home to find out! This picture and the next were taken in spring.
I know the coming weeks will bring moments of sheer joy.
On the road beside me were several inland thornbill, given their size, they are also affectionately known as ‘button bums’. Had I not been forced to slow down, I would have missed this beautiful moment of shared joy.
The rain had left a puddle in the middle of the road. The birds were thoroughly enjoying a communal bath, undeterred by my presence.
Some immersed themselves fully and then shook themselves fluffy. 
Others walked away from the puddle with confidence and returned. Dip, fluff, repeat.
There was one that tried not to get wet and stretched tiny legs to stay upright.
The result was inevitable!
While another took a break and found me the curiosity. And, that was just fine with me!
The view from my hotel bed is always spectacular. As soon as it was light enough I scrambled out of bed, bed hair tucked under beanie and headed to the Lair.
The fog hung low as I walked alone, taking in every sensory experience. The crunch of my footsteps, gum nuts showering around me (courtesy of the parrots), the birdsong, the honking of the Australian shelducks that chased each other above the trees, the smell of gum trees. 
There were boughs of delicate golden wattle, breaking up the grey green of winter that’s only weeks away.
Lichen painted limbs strewn carelessly.
While other limbs were decorated with frills.
The occasional splash of colour at my feet.
Then the parrot caught my eye. It was probably watching me long before I saw it! It was silent and blended in beautifully with foliage.
Soon followed by a shower of red robins that descended on the trees and shrubs around me. Curious about my presence, they were gorgeous!
As I was leaving I met a local who knows the reserve well. He told me he found a bunny orchid the day before, so I followed him like a child.
The bunny orchids on the stem were tiny. Each flower the size of a child’s pinky nail. Exquisite! My delight was so obvious, he left me alone with them!
I love the sound of my hollow footsteps as I walk down the ‘gang plank’ to the viewing area.
The stromatolites look like giant cow pats. I come here for the bird life too.
On one trip the white faced heron was my muse.
Such elegance!
And simple lines!
And in the distance, the large cormorant seemed almost fluffy, in comparison.
Well, not quite! The noisy wattle bird, now silent, was within reach. Keeping my movements small, I put the sandwich down and picked up my camera.
Emboldened by the quiet, the bird started to feed. They are a joy to watch.
The wattle bird has ordinary plumage, and blends into the scrub with ease. But I look for the distinctive vivid yellow belly, when I find them, nestled deep in foliage.
The wattle bird is fascinating to watch when it feeds, with the delicate red wattles dangling on either side of the head. What is sacrifices in an unattractive metallic cackle call, it makes up in elegance.
When the wattle bird left to feed elsewhere, I found an acacia, the tiny flower, bright as a spotlight. It shone a light on a simple truth.
My children have taught me, they may have been raised with identical values, but they are individuals. Each with their own strengths and struggles. My role is to be aware of this and be the level playing field for them. I cannot attribute this thinking to my professional training. Nor can I give credit to how I was raised by my parents. I have become this kind of parent because I take time every day to visit that inner space, the sanctuary, where I am me.
I’ve found when dazzled by anything en masse
It is worth the time to stop and look closer. 
That scrub with white prongs in the distance, has its own delight.
I found these ‘roses’ …
bloom in the harshest environment.
Although I avoid orange drinks, sometimes it is worth to stop and gulp.
An enamel orchid will continue to shine, under the overhang.
At dawn the ‘bin chicken’ is equally beautiful with sea as backdrop
as it is stepping out of a pond at sunset.
Stone hearts may be invisible in people, until you rub them up the wrong way. The visible ones, left by Nature, are always beautiful because of their vulnerability. (I photographed this exactly as I found it).
Driving through the Midwest, I realised, why settle for a bunch of flowers when I can have a paddock. 
I’m always amazed to find pink in tough, mining towns. On reflection, given the volatility of the industry and profession, perhaps it is Nature’s way to symbolize hope. 
Every time I return from a trip, a neglected garden reminds me, it will continue to bloom, with or without my presence. A helpful reminder for ego, so I take notes.
There are no words to describe finding one’s first enamel orchid along a bush track but I’ll try. They look shiny and plastic. The crick in the neck from the double take was worth it! They are breathtakingly beautiful.
Likewise discovering that shaggy bush in Esperance, turns into a gorgeous waterfall acacia came as a surprise like no other one spring.
If one summons enough courage to visit Lesueur National Park early mornings, when there is no one else there but Nature, the drawcard is easy to see.
I found ‘kebabs’ of flowers there, too, so the gnawing hunger pangs make me return again and again.
Pom poms along bush tracks brings out the inner cheerleader, I never knew resided in me.
There’s infinite joy when a small bird allows you to keep it company.
In a still moment, unadorned simplicity, is where Nature does it best.
There’s a certain beauty to waiting before bloom. (I wish I knew this in my youth).
Rice crackers are found on the beach, if you look for them hungrily.
The sand dunes are not an obstruction between me and the ocean.
They are made from tiny shells and quartz. Each piece infinitesimal and exquisite.
A pesky weed is beautiful too.
A snail will climb steadily until it reaches the tree top. It’s all about pace!
Any cut, words or blade, can leave ragged edges.
I’ve found youth (mine!) and wisdom (my children’s!) can co-exist on the same branch of a tree!
Sometimes, you just have to stand still and allow the storm to pass, and it will, if your roots are strong.
I’ve learned the solitary fisherman on the rocks who wets the line at dawn, has done this many times before. He does it for the pleasure, not because he expects a bite.
Likewise the surfer, as he strides out board under arm, to the open sea.
There he’ll sit, with like minded folk, waiting for that set to arrive.
And when it does, he’ll take me with him on that magic carpet ride. 
I found some mornings when the sea is muted, wild dolphins will weave their way through the calm and leave my knees weak with sheer delight of it all.
I’ve found in small mining towns, when there’s not a soul to be seen at midday, even a kangaroo can stop by and crack open a can, to chill with you.
And, if you don’t drink. You can still see double.
In winter, when all else has faded away, a fig is vivid with colour.
A beach is a beach. It does not need a me and a you, to tell a story of romance.
I don’t need to travel to Mallee country. There are times when the ringneck will visit me to check out how I live.
No longer a lead foot. I slow down and enjoy the curves that life throws up at me now and then. I’ve learned those are moments, to see past the obstruction and see the forest, as it is meant to be.
Yes, I found patience. It was always at my feet, in the Here and Now.
I’ve found mother and child stay together, as long as necessary for survival.
Wait long enough, tide and time will make rocks crumble.
When exploited, the earth bleeds red.
In the harsh Pilbara mining region, if you look hard enough, there is an oasis outside the door.
And in the red dust of the Goldfields, nuggets are found in the scrub.
A Wheatbelt sunset is more beautiful, when a solitary silhouette gives it perspective.
Wake early enough, the party has started with a festoon of pink galahs on gum trees.
In the Midwest, the white heron is always poised.
But the pelican can have an inelegant moment or three.
In Esperance, the solitary seek the sea, as friend.
Once past prime, a flower is still beautiful, when it hits the pavement.
When admonishment is necessary, the Willie Wagtail is never far away. 
If one’s lucky, the sea eagle may look you straight in the eye.
In autumn, the Mallee gum trees are frosted with blossoms.
I’ve come to learn, the Australian Ringneck parrots, love these gum trees too. I follow the scatter of gum flowers from one trail to another. 
There are boughs of flowers, and sometimes, even a neat posy.
And the ones that are past their prime, are still beautiful.
Sometimes, just a hint of colour in the scrub.
Delicate buds, waiting to bloom.
The Prickly Dryandra is favoured by the smaller birds, who appear after the parrots have left.
But not this time. They were sitting on the tree branches, highly visible to the eye.
This one took my breath away.
And this one did the same.
I’ve lived for over 25 years in my neighbourhood and had never stopped to watch a white heron in flight. I do now.
I never realised, the beige of the Wheatbelt is beautiful at dawn. I do now.
Who knew a front garden filled with roses, is a welcome like no other. I do now.
Sunlight warms the whitest iceberg. I do now.
In a forest, the trees are not green, it is the leaves that make it vivid. I do now.
Previously my hiking boots stomped on leaves and stones, ignoring the fallen one, tortoise shelled by age and sun. My steps are now lighter. I do now.
My curiosity was blunted. I never stopped to wonder why. I do now.
I didn’t know, the Black Swan raises cygnets, as white as snow. I do now.
And, when I’m not home, snowdrops bloom at the front door. I do now.
I didn’t know life was meant to be lived, eye to eye. I do now.
A Shared Space 
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