West Beach, Esperance, Western Australia
It is in the moment of falling,
losing grip of that fluid ground
his peripheral vision sharp
as he gazes briefly on those around
still waiting for that wave he caught
lying around,
waiting, while he falls
while he falls, he know he caught the wave boldly
the one they waited for
so he rises again, firm, steady,
boldly determined
on fluid ground once more.
by dawnbird
I love watching and photographing surfers. When I see them in the ocean, they teach me about hope, anticipation, courage, patience and most of all, determination.
So I start my first post of the year wishing that you have the courage to ride that wave because it is only in the falling, that you will know you have done so.
As always
a dawnbird
PS The poem came to me today from a place where I was two months ago which I will write about in the next post.
In response to Daily Word Prompt – Affect
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 clump of cowslip orchids, found unexpectedly, in debris.
Manna acacia blooming below a canopy of gum trees.
A spider orchid, dancer like, posturing mid-furl.
An emu in the wild, caught mid-stride, long neck perfectly curled.
The tiny inland thorn bill with yolk egg feathers, singing for mate, in spring.
A Willy Wagtail, with bling in her wing.
Sunset in an autumn leaf.
Pink ballerina tutus in shrubs, just below the trees.
Ballgowns draped on shrubs, more beautiful than found on any red carpet.
A trio of pristine white cornettes.
A gift from and for the sea, left on shore by someone unknown. But it spoke to, and, for me.
I went where I had lunch one afternoon. There’s a cafe to the right of this with beautiful views over water. But no, I wanted to be in the scrub! To my delight the place was teeming with birds. I know them well enough by the call.
I found a tiny male zebra finch with wisdom in his eyes.
Then there was the female finch. She flew up, caught the blade of grass in her beak and slid down, showering grass seeds on the ground. She then fed in privacy in the tall grass. Clever!
Ever watchful, high in thick scrub, were a pair of rainbow bee eaters. Aloof, silent, predatory.
The yellow honey eaters, feasted on flowers, their maniacal laughter-like call, harsh, for such a pretty bird.
With ‘lipsticked lips’ pursed tightly shut, the Pacific Gull was dignified in defeat as silver sea gulls stole lunch and flew away screeching. 
The Brahminy kite (I think), from the highest vantage point, watched all, then flew away silently.
A Shared Space 
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