I love the word inspire. Each year, it brings new meaning. No longer passive, I seek each day. I can write when I see, feel, hear or sense something. It’s a daily awakening. A daily reminder. I am alive.
To share the images below with you brings a level of discomfort. They were always there. I just never saw them. Importantly, and sadly, I did not seek them. I did not seek to use my senses mindfully.
Every day I look beyond what I see. A tree, is no longer a tree. A flower is no longer, just beautiful. A fallen leaf, is more than debris. A bird is more than feathers and song. My strides are shorter and slower. I inhale and exhale more deeply. I hear small sounds amid din. A moment lasts longer.
This year, inspire has been synonymous with stillness. It has been moments when I waited to hear ‘the other voice’.
So I’ll share with you what I’ve found in those moments of dialogue.
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.
May you seek and find a moment today.
Until next time
As always
a dawn bird
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.
The sun broke through, as it always does, just beyond the Small Boat Harbour, (Carnarvon).
I delighted in the superb drama happening over this little town, quelling my fears of flying home through this and then to weather that was worse in Perth. The flight back was surprisingly calm in the small plane. But there was silence among the 34 passengers when the pilot announced we were going to land in poor weather in 60 km/hour high winds. I know what 28 km/hour winds during landing feels like in this plane. But 60! I closed my eyes and visualized all good things in my life. I found it was not a difficult thing to do. Half an hour from landing I clutched the seat tighter and tighter, while we bounced and rattled. We landed with an almighty thud and a deafening whoomf. Then came the short dash from aircraft to terminal. As soon as we stepped off the plane, it hailed. (Yes, it hurts when it hits one’s face!).
I found a cluster of bell-like gum nuts at my feet. Although they will not bloom like other similar blossoms, their beauty is more accessible, close up. This is how it is meant to be, for some.
I look for solitary things in nature. Things that should belong together, but somehow fall away. Their beauty is undiminished, in isolation. For some, it takes effort to believe in this but when they do, the rewards are endless.
I prefer not to touch an object before I photograph it. I feel I need to respect the space where the object has come to rest. It was there for a reason. Things happen for a reason. It is something I’ve come to respect about life, too.
During this walk, I followed a trail of clover. It was a delicate wreath that wound itself around a massive rock. The dichotomy of strength and fragility, written in simple lines. And, yes, they can co-exist, each not detracting beauty from the other.
I know now, even green leaves fall away and come to rest until they disintegrate in the wind. This is their journey, not mine. The moment shared was finite. So is life.
Some are plain, beige, but sparkle best, when it rains. I’ve come to learn some people rise to their adversity, and can land softly, among rocks.
Some fade with a kaleidoscope explosion of colour. The message is clear. I was here once.
While others, are golden, among green. They signal season. A time for everything, and everything, in time.
The mulberry tree is stripped bare of leaves.
There’s a soft and squelching carpet underfoot.
I sneaked in a quick picture of a nest when there were no birds around. 
I came around the home to the side garden where the geraniums always bloom. Their vivid colour in winter is an obvious delight.
In the front garden, the roses defy winter, having found intermittent warmth during autumn. They are putting up a showy display before pruning.
This bloom is as big as an infant’s face. The perfume is exquisite.
I love this rose that starts to bloom with the faintest tinge of pink.
There is just one pink rose on the front arbor.
With a promise of another, yet to bloom.
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!
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!
When I’m in Esperance, now my second home, I wake early to catch sunrise at the Bay. I’m yet to see a repeat light show, as the one I saw that day.
I then head to Woody Lake where the white faced heron is perfect in silhouette.
In my garden, I breathe deeply. The roses are there to remind me. Life is sweet.
I’m not big on garden ornaments, but I love this one. My son used to sleep this way in infancy. He says it was a reflection of inherited work ethic. Head down, bum up!
This elegant statue I bought in Kalgoorlie. It is placed under the jasmine shrub. She waits for it to bloom. Waiting is good, sometimes.
I bought these rocks to remind me each day how uncomplicated life can be. Why make it anything else?
when I drove through a weather cell in the Wheatbelt, frightened out of my wits, the huge road train turned into a road angel that afternoon and illuminated the instant dark. I found silence and calm in a paddock, some 85 kms down the road.
About my work in Moora where I go looking for the butterflies in the garden of my hotel. She looked at the picture and said drily. “It’s just a monarch!” There was a slight thaw around her mouth when I said, “yes, wearing polkas!”
I told her about my work in Bunbury where I found the ocean turns pink at dawn.
And about the bees among the prickly dryandra in Narrogin, that look like a long eared bunny, close up.
About the filigree found in leaves that remind me of the silver jewellery gypsies wear in Rajasthan.
And the single, plain leaf in the sand that caught my eye even when there was so much more to see.
How the honeyeater’s song in the Goldfields helped me discover ….
among the tangles, there’s simple beauty.
How the flowers don’t all burst into bloom at once. Maybe Nature sets a pace to slow us down. Wait and see.
I told her about the seagull with the broken foot that probably landed too hard at Walyalup Rocks, but can still fly.
And about that time when locals in Bunbury asked each other if they saw the sunset the previous night.
The greenest growth is at the point of pruning.
Solitary can be a powerful statement.
I no longer look for permanence. Transience is appealing to me. What ebbs and flows, like the breath of life, is a gift. We see this in tides, sometimes shells, sometimes, a forest of boab trees in the sand. 
I also know a boab tree is strong, and will wait like a friend, withstanding tide and time.
At my leisure I read sea stories of ancient times, carved in stone.
I’ve learned lessons from migratory birds in flight. And, like them, I now travel light.
Cauterised, I now watch the tide soothe ruffled edges, as the pindan cliffs bleed into the sea.
My eyes scan roadside for three eyed monsters. They help reconnect to the child in me.
A red eye, is a ruby.
A ball of ruffled vivid feathers is gorgeous, but …
A single white feather, is peace.
Emus rule here. On wide empty streets, they slow you down. They are the traffic jam. The speed bump. I love them! Once at the local school, I even saw one checking out the children’s backpacks that were left outside class!
The sun rises over water here. And, as is true anywhere in the world, each day is always different.
Did I love the vivid colours of one day or the beautiful serene pewter shine, the next? I really cannot say. Both were equally breathtaking.
I love visiting Pebble Beach. The rocks come from the escarpment on the other side. The sea brings them in, and leaves them polished, and smooth. 
For me, these are the pearls of the sea. They are old. Smooth. Tactile. Melded. You feel the story in one’s hand.
This time I visited Jurabi Point Beach.
Was it worth it?
You bet!
Among the pebbles, knowing they are there, I always search for heart shaped stones. Why does the sea shape them so?
This one is for meditation. When adrift rudderless, at sea, it is a reminder. Like the tide, one always returns to shore.
In a noisy household, I was regarded as “a good child”. I never got in the way. I’m not quite sure how I managed that because I was curious about everything.
A Shared Space 
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