Tag: choices

Courage, in an uneven footing …

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Silvereye, Foxes Lair, Narrogin, Western Australia

It’s just after 6 am as I write.  It is freezing cold in my clean but old motel room.  The ceiling is high, the air con heater sluggish, it will be hours before the room warms.  I’ll be gone by then.

Yesterday I finished work on time, drove into town, just a minute away, grabbed a cup of coffee and headed out to Foxes Lair.  I barely had 20 minutes among the trees before it got too dark to be there on my own.  It was all I needed.  I was renewed.  I am myself again.

I’ll drive home this morning listening to my favourite playlist.  If the roadworks are more accessible by day, I may stop off at The Woolshed in the tiny farming town of Williams and see if they have a jumper or two that I may like.  The quality of their merino wool garments is beautiful, light and warm.  I have an afternoon at home to tidy up some work before I drive to the north east Wheatbelt tomorrow, around 300 km away, where I’ll spend the next few days.  And then … a much needed break, in a warmer place.  The thought, quickens my heart beat.

I’ve been able to survive the rigors of the last few weeks convinced in the knowledge, all days are not equal.  Some days the load is lighter, and others, crushing.  Yes, my shoulders sag at times but thankfully I’ve discovered ways and means to rejuvenate.  A grove of trees, a strip of beach, even an empty paddock roadside, is all I need, to feel energised again.  I reflected on this early morning and found, I don’t resent the load, but I do feel lost when I don’t have the opportunity during a work trip, to be in nature.  I have professional supervision once a month but I feel my spirit needs ‘guidance’, ‘supervision’, every single day.  Without it, I careen under the weight of lifestyle.

It has taken a long time to realise, it is okay for demands of the day to be uneven.  It takes courage, to find core strength.  One just needs to ride it out.  I’d much rather have this, than a predictable lifestyle.  When I think back to the years when Monday to Friday, 9-5, was my compass, was the way to the bank, I’m surprised that I survived.  I guess, one never knows what one is missing out on, unless one has the courage to try it.

I woke up grateful this morning, I had the courage to be curious about what was around the corner, much like the tiny silvereye.  It would have been a life un-lived, if I hadn’t.

May you find and enjoy your moment of gratitude, curiosity and courage, today.

Until next time

As always

a dawn bird

In response to Word of the Day Challenge :  Equal

The Freedom Fighter

DSCN9485.jpgHe was a freedom fighter
to me, he was a rebel
to others, a soldier
to my parents, he was trouble

I was barely sixteen,
he, a few years older
we met at a party
fun was what I was after, and so was he

My parents watched with consternation
as things progressed too far
they were wise, cautioned softly, go slow
of course, at sixteen, it was advice I would ignore

At night I’d slip out the back door
to the intimacy of an empty park
somehow I’d find my freedom fighter
with cigarette tip glowing in the dark

He’d kiss me with a passion
I remember to this day
he promised me the world
If we left my hometown and ran away

In the company of friends
we would talk politics, knee deep in the car
I knew little about what he fought for
Yearning only the kind of freedom, I fought for

I once asked him if he’d choose his country or me
He looked at me intently saying
(as only a freedom fighter would)
If your country was wiped off the map
What would you do?

He had fought for his country
at an age when I didn’t know what that meant
But I loved his passion for fight
at a time when I was fighting for independence

Surrendering, my parents gave in
it was the lesser evil of the two
so they let me pack up and leave
all that I knew and loved, behind

He wept when I left him
the train pulled away, I opened his gift
I held it in my hand and smiled
as only a 16 year old would

It was a pendant, a bullet on a chain
Something I would never wear
a premonition of things to come
and yet, I didn’t care

Years later, I heard he was living in the USA
Married with children, he lives a staid life
This morning I know with conviction,
I did the right thing then.

Yes, my parents were right,
he never knew me at all
he may have been a freedom fighter once
but a staid life was not the freedom I fought for

a dawn bird

 

Listening to small sounds

DSCN5375This is Solo, a duckling I found on the banks of the lake near my home.  She was part of a big family, but she caught my eye.  I’ve written about her in a post some years ago.  She was so brave and always vulnerable as she stepped away from the safety of the brood.  She had a broken foot that healed in a way that made her limp.  It didn’t stop her adventures.  I take my cues on life, from her.

It is only recently that I started to value my single life.  The thing I value the most, is early morning when I can be alone with my thoughts, but there are some disadvantages too, like a few nights ago.

I got to Moora just before dusk to find teens on mountain bikes playing chicken with the light traffic of occasional trucks and cars.  I have worked with teens who have no regard for law and order, more so than the rite of passage of adolescence.  When in a group, things can go wrong very quickly.  So I assessed what I could see.  The police lights were flashing in the distance so I knew they were keeping an eye on things.  I got to my chalet in the caravan park and started working.  By night time I curled up on the sofa to watch TV, the raucous laughter of teens carried by silence, to me.  A true life sleuthing of a cold case had me transfixed so I stayed on the sofa until late.  I finally turned the lights off and peered outside only to find, I was the only person staying in the caravan park!  I didn’t need to know this!

I lay in bed unable to sleep.  The caravan park backs on to a local oval and is right in the middle of the tiny town.  The sense of isolation crept up my spine.  My vulnerability made my heart pound in my ears, drowning out all other sounds.  Then I went through the drill of safety.  It goes like this.  As soon as I enter a hotel room, I check the doors and windows are locked.  I do this for a reason.  I’ve had three incidents where this kept me safe.

The first is when this safety drill took a life of its own.  It is another story so I’ll hold that for now.

The second incident happened in Broome.  It was hot and humid, as Broome usually is.  It was in the middle of the day when I got to my room.  I checked and the big glass door was locked.  I stepped in for a cool shower then wrapped a towel around me and walked into the bedroom only to find a man in the courtyard trying to open the sliding door.  I thought he was a guest and entered the wrong courtyard.  I called out to him but he scurried away without looking backwards.  When I reported this to the hotel, they mentioned other people had complained too and they were on the lookout for him.  That’s when it struck me that he wasn’t a guest and how lucky I was.

The second time was in Bunbury.  Fatigued from driving I lay down on the bed at dusk after checking the windows and doors.  I fell asleep and woke around 11 pm.  The curtains were wide open and the room was adjacent to the main road into town.  I closed the curtains, got ready for bed and switched off the lights.  As I lay there, I heard cautious footsteps, then the gate to my courtyard open with a slight squeak.  I listened as the security sliding door opened oh so slowly.  I was on my feet in a flash and flicked on the outside light.  I heard footsteps scurry away.  The management were kind enough never to give me an outer room again.

In Moora I knew everything was locked in the chalet.  This knowledge calmed me eventually.  I switched my focus on the here and now and lay in bed listening to small sounds.  Anxiety had distorted them to thunder, so I focused steadily.  I heard gumnuts rain on the roof in a stiff breeze while the hum of the air con filled the night air intermittently.  All was well.  It was summer in the Wheatbelt.  A time and place for everything.  So I allowed sleep to overtake me.

The next morning I woke to light.  I must have turned off the air con sometime during the night.  The chalet was cool.  The pink galahs were screeching raucously in the gum trees.  All else was still.  Despite the noise from the birds, it felt like solitude.  Coffee seemed to jar a gentle moment of awakening, so I made a mild cuppa tea, English Breakfast, instead.  And, like Solo, I contemplated.

Sometimes we create squiggles from a straight line.  Sometimes, a straight line can be a squiggle.  I’ve found resilience comes down to perception and how we see things.DSCN9964.jpgSolo has remained a duckling in memory.  I suspect a careless driver ended her adventures one day.  I never saw her again after the initial few days she roamed the neighbourhood.  I’m sure Solo would agree, single or attached is irrelevant.  It is how we live life is important.  Tiny as she was, she was powerful in her presence.  She taught me, if one looks, one finds, life is all about the unexpected.  I’ve seen new generations of ducklings since then, but she remains warm in memory.  Today my smile comes easier.

I’m off again.  Having given away the humdrum of 9 to 5, I’m humming Billy Joel’s, ‘This is my Life’ instead.

Until next time

As always

a dawn bird