Is it really August?
The last month of winter in the Southern Hemisphere arrived with torrential rain, hail, high winds and even rare snow flurries in some parts of Western Australia.
Today, thunder rolled above my roof and lightning flashed bright across grey skies. From my kitchen window I watched the doves seek shelter under the jasmine bushes, and as I wrapped my arms around myself and sought the warmth of my skin, I felt as cold as they looked.
After a whirlwind of back to back trips since October last year, I’m finally home for ten days, so I do admit, despite the bleak skies and cold, I’m enjoying being held captive at home by the rain.
I was in the Goldfields a couple of weeks ago. I have never experienced cold like I did during the trip but there were definitely some beautiful moments.
Sunrise, Kalgoorlie, Western Australia
Sunrise from my hotel room is always glorious. There’s gold in those ranges with the Super Pit gold mine just under those skies in the distance.
Rainbow in Kalgoorlie
Double rainbows were the norm most days and a treat to observe. I believe rainbows are the dolphins of the sky. It is impossible not to feel joy when you see one rise and arc across the horizon.
Back Beach, Bunbury, Western Australia
As the seasons change, so are my priorities.
I am slowly winding back my business and keeping only that which brings me joy. It is a guilty regret when I have reflected seasons have come and gone in the past 12 months and I have barely had time to pick up my camera. I had nearly forgotten what joy photography brings into my life.
Until the other day when I was rushing out of the rain and stopped in my tracks.
Despite high winds, in a recently pruned barren garden, a tiny rose leaf lay still, cradling even tinier jewel-like raindrops.
As I battle my way through this brutal winter, I close my eyes during bumpy flights, and count down the days to spring.
Until next time
As always
a dawn bird
Port Denison, Western Australia
Nature’s depression
Sunset, Back Beach, Bunbury, Western Australia
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.
Yellow everlasting flowers growing roadside in the Wheatbelt.
or growing side by side with blue leschenaultia in dry, gravel soil.
The beautiful velvety native purple flowers on grey foliage that look extremely ordinary from a distance. But close up? You be the judge.
These interesting flowers are tiny and waxy. I’ve seen creamy lemon ones in the Goldfields. They glisten in the sun like dew. Up close, they are delicate and finely veined, like aged hands. I’ve seen hundreds and thousands of these, but this time, I saw one in bloom. Exquisite.
Then there are the tiny everlastings that glow like embers, along the ground.
The beautiful spears of grevillea that grow wild everywhere.
Or these mops of orange.
and blue.
The delicate intricacy of the cone flower.
And tiny, tiny, butter yellow blooms.
I still find white flowers joyful.
A Shared Space 
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