She comes to the door of the B&B, her smile is 100 watt dazzle. Slumped over the walking frame, she looks a couple of generations older, but I’m sure she’s not. Her home is period. She tells me it was cut and transported piece by piece from Kalgoorlie where it was a boarding house. It is endlessly large with high ceilings. She has beautiful taste. She bought the home for a pittance and renovated it faithful to the period. Everything in the home was bought for next to nothing. Huge jarrah posts discarded by a farmer for $8 a piece, she tells me, laughter making her eyes shine. We both know the posts would cost hundreds of dollars in the city. Stained glass windows discarded by someone else exchanged or bartered, one is always lucky to find them, we know this too. She has polished, painted and brushed it all back to life from another century. She has grand plans for so much more and not allowed pain or limited mobility to dampen her enthusiasm.
My bedroom is blue and white. The bed, one of the most comfortable I’ve had in a long time. I was too exhausted to eat, so I lay down in the white warmth and slept fitfully only to wake early evening to water running. I follow the sound outdoors.
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 step away into the background, camera in hand and reflect.
If this is old age ….
Until next time
As always
a dawn bird
To the novice, this is just rubble. Not me. My heart raced as I walked around. I anticipated seeing some wild orchids, just as the blog had published.
Soon I found the first orchids. 
Tiny bulbs. I had never seen orchid bulbs before.
The donkey orchids bloomed, stained like tortoise shells, in their hundreds.
Among the grass there were spider orchids.
Oh! so graceful in bud!
When blooming, they danced around, ta da ing their way across grass and rubble.
Their heart, exquisite.
Some bloomed in trios, each more graceful than their neighbour, in still posture.
I headed over to the Lookout where there is a steep gradient over granite rock to bush land below. I’ve found white sugar orchids here before, so I went looking. I wasn’t disappointed!
There were some that were stronger in colour. Each detail so perfect in dusk light.
Others, tinted white.
And others, deep in the bush, barely pink.
The Lair was a florist shop. There are thousands of flowers and different species every few steps. Instead of rubber necking, I decided to explore one side of the track before exploring the other. I also decided to look for the smaller flowers that the eye can barely see.
I found tiny purple tassle flowers.
Blue lechenaultia blooming in some corners.
While others responded more slowly to sunlight. Blue and purple flowers are more difficult to see in dense bushland where white, pink and yellow are dominant colours in spring.
I spent a lot of time with the exquisitely tiny paper everlasting flowers. They are barely visible to the naked eye.
They love the sun and open at first rays before one’s eyes.
How cute is this?
I loved the white flowers too, interspersed among the pinks.
The tiny pink fairy orchids were scattered here and there.
The sundew were less frequently seen this month. I love these flowers.
The hakea tassle flowers were frosting large bushes, white with pink tips.
I found this beautiful white orchid, demurely blooming behind a log.
I thought this was moss but it looks like a succulent of some kind.
This was the only pimelea I found during my walk. Beautiful!
I heard a squawk above my head, only to find a young redcap parrot, all ruffled to greet the day.
While another young parrot groomed nearby.
On the ground, the red breasted robin kept me company.
The boot sits outside my study window. It reminds me life is fragile, and living in community makes one stronger. I take time to talk to strangers. They love to talk about their community, I’ve found. Like the old boot that no longer dances, but the story of its new life, can still make a heart sing. So I consciously and mindfully live life closer to the source and Source.
The clump of snowdrops at my doorstep has grown, having arrived three weeks later than they did last year. They seem to have survived another year of my old gardener’s enthusiasm for clearing flower beds and his failing eyesight!. I looked through dozens of flowers and found myself wanting to see what was under the hood. Now I know!
In the back garden the Cape Gooseberry is fruiting. I love this fruit and they hardly ever stay long enough on the bush without me picking off the lanterns while still green. I found this one on the ground, encased in gossamer, the detail, exquisite.
I know while bush walking, there are tiny flowers and foliage to search for and delight in. I also know some folks are intent on the walk itself, and miss what my eyes search for. I also know that’s their journey, not mine. So I let them walk by.
What I search for in bush country, are the tiny wild orchids that grow in impossible places. They remind me of a plaque I have in my study “Bloom where God plants you”.
This year the orchids are prolific. 
I love the detail of these delicate orchids that seem to bloom in harsh conditions, with attitude! If this is not a diva presence, I’m not sure what is!
And who can walk past the beautiful banksia and not stop to marvel at this wonderful plant. I love the symmetry of the prickly leaves too.
There are tassle plants growing everywhere and after uploading the photograph, I can see the details, hidden to the naked eye. I’ve come to learn through photography, beauty is often sensed and not always seen, until later.
These are mallee and gum trees. The mallee is like a gangly teenager, with out of proportion limbs and leaves. Or, so I thought. 
When I stood under it, I had to ask myself, how did I miss this before?
Yes spring is here. The turnip weed flowers are everywhere alongside roads and highways. The soft canola, is painted across the landscape in broad strokes of vivid yellow.
The donkey orchid is prolific. This was was crusted with frost.
The shy cowslips that bloom in shady places.
To find a clump of them is special.
The clubbed spider orchid looks like a marionette.
The hooded jug orchids are beautiful in their own special way.
The tiny, tiny pink fairy orchid is in a class of its own.
Sometimes when fragile, we all need something strong and steady to lean on.
Even flowers unfurl in the faintest sunlight, so be generous with yours.
We all bloom at different times.
Simplicity is best.
The canola fields are turning gold in the farming Midwest.
This picture captures the colours of the Midwest, so perfectly, from the ground. 
There are expanses of these low growing shrubs, encrusted with tiny flowers growing in the bush.
Beautiful spears of flowers everywhere one looks. 
In this land even a common weed looks beautiful!
There are huge swatches of paper everlasting flowers. Just breathtaking!
Seeing them up close, is seeing perfection.
These purple flowers are scattered among the pinks and whites.
In my garden the bees are busy.
And, roses continue to bloom.
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.
The humble ground cover roadside in Bunbury that glowed like a star.
The beauty of water lilies in a billabong in the Kimberley. I will return.
The solitude of sunrise at Esperance Bay.
I found this banksia in Esperance when I went for a walk one evening. It was getting dark so I did not take my camera. I was deep in thought trying to process an eventful day. Then I saw it, candle like, low in the scrub. I kept walking but somehow felt drawn to it. Unusual because they bloom everywhere. Compelled, I returned to it. I leaned into it with my phone.
My eyes lit up. I saw perfection.
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.
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 
You must be logged in to post a comment.