I was raised in a home that was filled with books and discussion. I’ve carried the tradition into my home with my children.
It was my father who nurtured me emotionally and intellectually by choice and circumstance. I adored him. He became an invalid at 39 after he suffered a major heart attack and became a stay-at-home dad, so he was more accessible while my mother went out to work. I loved his reserve. His wisdom still guides me each day.
Like a bird that sits quietly while her eggs incubate beneath her, my father would listen to my endless questions, pause thoughtfully and ask, “what do you think?” I always had an answer or five and when I didn’t, I’d scurry to find a book with the answer and return back to him, brimming with information.
He didn’t know then, and I wish I could tell him now, he was my Dream Maker. In those pauses, my dreams found a place to incubate.
Until next time
As always
a dawn bird
I did a double take and zoomed in. I wasn’t alone! My heart pounded in excitement.
I zoomed in as slowly as I could.
And, closer, again.
And again.
The next morning, I headed out to the reserve again. The air was alive with tweets and flapping wings of the larger birds over the lake.
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.
“She refused to say goodbye, It had a finality. A brutality. It was a point of reference. It had the power to define what was before it and all that came after. So she found a way to say goodbye, framed within a eulogy to friendship. After all, memories are meant to keep one warm, make one smile and soften the ragged edges. Or do they? 
I was in the outback, far north, staying at a cattle station just before the mustering began.
Standing by the corral at dawn, I didn’t notice him while he worked, so entranced was I, by it all. 
But when he stood patiently waiting for toast to turn brown, sipping billy tea from a tin mug, “g’day” escaping from the corner of his mouth, he caught my eye. 
He had an aura. It was how he worked the horses, that made him unique.
He sat down slowly, as if in pain, guitar cradled in his lap, a beer clenched in a calloused fist. His feet were bare, untouched by the sun they glowed infant pink. His arms were also bare, nut brown and muscled from reining in, a black bandana around his head, adding colour. He took a thirsty swig, leaned over and placed the bottle on the grass in the space that separated us.
He travels the world, searching for the horse that no one can ride. For him, life and love, is that simple.
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.
I parked my car in the driveway and found the pink roses looked fatigued too. 
Strewn with rose petals, my front garden looked like a wedding had taken place.
While climbing roses on the arbor, reluctant to let summer go, clung on. There are ‘pockets’ of garden around my property. A legacy of the previous owner, a florist. It is a delight! Something seems to be blooming somewhere, making it always a garden. Being home so infrequently and for short visits, I enjoy looking around to see what lies in wait. I’m never disappointed.
No muted shades for this little one in the side garden. Reflecting the vividness of sunset.
And, there were others, still beautiful, before they fade away.
The geraniums always bloom. 
They are a welcome splash of colour in winter.
This shrub is covered in spokes of purple blooms.
There are no roadblocks in life. Just many opportunities to restart.
She saw colours more vibrant
than any painting in a gallery.
And when colours were muted
she found, they still told a story.
She searched for the Cape Barren Geese, at every trip to Esperance and found the giant bird, doing the impossible. Looking elegant.
Her eyes held a joey’s gaze while it snuggled deep within the mother’s pouch. It was something she only read about.
She walked with waders until they found the perfect palette for her to capture the moment.
She delighted in the ice cream pink wave of flowers, she found one day, in spring.
Over the years, my faith has grown stronger but my church no longer has walls.
But, I seek the one that stands apart. The one that sets the stage for me.
I found them in my garden.
Viola! in the strawberry, waiting to fruit.
Among bush tracks.
Against a fence.
In the neighbour’s garden.
In the eyes of the magpie lark, as it picked through the remnants of my breakfast.
In the eyes of a sick dog, who knows she is loved.
In my eyes, when I found the heart I left behind.
And, when I walked among the ‘sea clouds’.
I found my very own Milky Way.
So I took it home, and like a child at Halloween, emptied my pockets of loot.
A Shared Space 
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