The concept of prayer and faith is a difficult one to describe to anyone who does not share the same thinking. I know I have tried and failed miserably because faith and prayer is inextricably linked to who I am as a person. It comes to me without thinking. It is my go to place. I have never needed this more than in the last 48 hours.
I was headed out of Perth on a day when a massive storm was predicted. I was headed east and know the road well. I had previously driven the highway during a storm and for a stretch of 60-80 kms watched the tall gum trees that flanked the highway, dance above my car. I was watchful and tense. The winds this time were stronger at 125 km/hour. The rain expected to be torrential. It was still when I was ready to leave the metro area. The air heavy, stifling, waiting to implode. I went back into my home and grabbed some summer clothes, thinking it would be hotter than I thought. I was wrong! At night the air in this open land was cold and biting.
Once I left the city behind I did not anticipate the journey ahead. The paddocks were bare, ready for seeding. The beige pastures dry. The beige now in the air. Visibility was negligible. The folks in the region told me it was the worst dust storm in their memory.
I turned off my air con and coughed my way through the next 160 km. When I arrived I could barely speak, my mouth and teeth gritty with dust. The next day I headed further north east. I had another two hours of driving.
I could see the dark clouds build up on the horizon. I tried to beat the rain. It arrived before I could step it up. The rain was like a powerful waterfall. The wipers could not keep up. The road started to flood in places and my car bounced off sheets of water. I could not see a suitable place to stop and park. I was doing between 50-70 km/hour in a 110 km/hr zone. The stress of someone coming up behind me and not seeing me in time was ever present. The only thing I could do was hold my nerve and pray, “keep me safe”. 
I got to a tiny hamlet called Latham when the sun broke through and it felt like I was on another planet. The birds came out tweeting. The wedge tailed eagle. Pink Galahs. Tiny honeyeaters. And, I even saw a Maleefowl saunter back into the bush. The difference in the weather was unbelievable.
I was running late and could not stop to take any pictures. This area is renowned for wildflowers. I know I’ll be back in spring.
Another day of criss crossing towns and then I was finally on my journey home. This time I indulged in a little rubber necking. There was no one else on the road for one stretch of 51 kms, so I stopped and took this picture. One of the most meditative drives I’ve had in a while.
I could see the storm clouds building again. Having experienced the worst the previous day, these ominous clouds could not damper my spirit. There was an innate confidence. I would be safe.
It may be old fashioned to think this way, but prayer works for me. It’s my hard wiring. It makes all things possible in my life, or perhaps, I believe it does. And, as long as I don’t impose it on others, I see no harm in it. Nor does it harm me. (I’ll have to remember this tomorrow when I fly out in predicted bad weather!)
Until next time
As always
a dawn bird
There’s nothing like a sunset across the water here. I caught a brief glimpse, just a memory of what I know to be here.
The colours then muted down as it darkened.
Then there was night sky.
As the light faded I found a wader perched on a rock, like me, watching the schools of fish, some that jump out of the water with a splash. River mullet, I’m told. I’ve seen them dance upright across the surface of the water, flapping madly.
The fish were too quick and perhaps, the school too big, so the wader had to be content among the molluscs. It was as still and silent, as me.
One last pic before nightfall, and I’m happy, satiated even, with the few moments I had with my camera.
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 learn from educational programs. Is sugar good for you? The insidious nature of it should stop us in our tracks. If we stopped supporting the fast food industry, will we be healthier? Can we reduce the use of plastics? How do we combat pollution? For me, these TV shows have become an unwitting mentor to living life with meaning. I recall years ago when someone stood up and was counted. We now have labels that identifies food from source countries. The ones that say ‘some imported ingredients’, the percentage never identified, I leave those well alone. I don’t see any reason for fresh food to be transported from across the world, when it is available a few kms down the road.
The road out of Broome is initially a sealed one. Then comes the fun part!
About 90kms of unsealed road. I’ve driven up here with others on four occasions in different weather conditions. It has always been an adventure!
Sometimes one drives through deeply gutted and mousse like pindan (red) earth.
At other times one eats dust.
The road etiquette is pretty easy to adapt to. Ride the ridge to allow oncoming traffic pass safely.
I often despair watching children with hand held devices. Immersed in technology, they miss the world around them. So when I saw a young boy wetting a line on the beach, Pacific Seagull by his side, it made me smile. He could have been sitting in the hotel room playing video games. But he was out here at dawn, because he enjoyed the experience of what he was doing. He didn’t catch any fish. It was just the enjoyment of anticipation and being near the sea. He had a relationship with the environment. There is hope ….
I look at the ocean differently. The responsibility for keeping it pristine lies with each of us. The answer to a complex question ‘What can I do?” lies within the question. It starts with “I …”.
I look at the debris left behind by the tides each day. It’s the kind that makes me happy. Like watching a child fishing at the beach, it also makes me hopeful.
Between Kellerberrin and Merredin is a parking spot where I usually stop for a few minutes to stretch my legs. The solitary trees in the paddock and the wide open horizon, is a familiar sight. It was dark every where, yet, the horizon was still bright.
I left Merredin a couple of days later, with the silo paintings on my right. They are a welcome sight by day break, but invisible by night.
In the dark I knew I had familiar landscape around me. The water pipe, for one. It carries water from Perth to the Goldfields. It was commissioned in the late 1800s and completed in early 1900. It is the lifeline of the people of the Goldfields. I cannot imagine the hardship endured by the workers who constructed this for hundreds of kilometers in harsh country. A reminder, life for me may seem challenging at times, but in comparison, I have nothing meaningful to complain about.
At night the air was acrid as I drove through tiny towns with streets empty of people. Bakers Hill, Clackline, Meckering, Cunderdin, Tammin, Kellerberrin. At times a distant glow kept me focused. The farmers were burning paddocks in readiness for seed. I’m impatient for winter to see some of these beige paddocks turn gold with canola.
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.
It is hot. It is red. It is dusty. The sky is blue. It is magnificent. 
There is a solitary tree at Spoilbank, in South Hedland. It is my favourite view from across the water. This is harsh country exposed to cyclones. I love the statement it makes. 
The muted shades of dusk.
The day ends beyond (tidal) Pretty Pool. It casts an iridescent glow.
The bird life at Pretty Pool is discreet. This heron was among the mangroves. It was barely bigger than a crow.
With a stretch that was amazing!
The tide had left a calling card. 
My favourite place early morning is near a church. The eagles like it too.
The magnificent cargo ships glide by, often without sound.
I’ve visited Cemetery Beach before when the turtles were hatching. (Yes, the beach is across the cemetery!). This time I found sculptures on shore. The real turtles in the sea were too quick to photograph.
A beautiful egret. An Eastern Reef egret, I think.
The rugged Pilbara shore.
I stood under the canopy. I knew I could choose to be either frustrated or excited at what I could hear but not see.
You can imagine my excitement to catch this fleeting moment, high up in the tree!
A Shared Space 
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