The year started like every other year. I was expecting life to set the bar no higher or lower than it has, over the past decade. I hurtled towards the familiar landscapes I’ve travelled across so frequently. I thought I had it all. Unknown to me, the Universe had other ideas.
First a family member became gravely ill and spent two months in intensive care. They have now recovered to a life that they had before illness. That, itself, is a miracle.
Reeling from this distress, I lost two-thirds of my business due to the vagaries that prevail in my field of work. I curled up into a ball …. for one night …. and, entirely unsolicited, was offered an even better and more lucrative contract the very next day. So the last few months have been hectic and kept me away from the blog as I wind up some of my work allowing me to focus on the contract I’m enjoying. To say I wake with a smile each morning is an understatement. I am in a happy space as I know within each loss, is a hidden unexpected gain.
Some of my regular work in the Goldfields continues. My hotel is in the middle of town and I, coffee in hand, never tire of the vista of beautiful old architecture each month.
I found this year a thunderstorm in the Goldfields is worth experiencing. It is all flash, thunderous noise and torrential warm rain. Quite breathtaking!
There was gold in other places too. I managed a trip to Narrogin in spring and found clumps of hibbertia hemignosta everywhere in Foxes Lair.
Then there was that amazing trip to Kalbarri in the north, where a few moments felt like a golden hour.
Flying over the pink lake of Port Gregory in the north on the way to Carnarvon, a destination I never reached but did experience three failed attempts of the small plane trying to land in poor weather, before returning home again. I have no memory of the journey home!
Flying over Shark Bay is always a treat! What’s not to love looking at this view on my way to work. It’s better than sitting in grid locked city traffic!
I spent a weekend in Margaret River without WIFI. The lack of intrusion from the outside world felt like another era in time. I have no idea what these flowers are but they were growing in huge bunches on tall trees. The birds loved them!
In spring Foxes Lair put up the usual show of wild flowers. I thought this jug orchid, drenched in morning dew, was gorgeous.
As were the tiny wild donkey orchids.
I’ve driven to Esperance three times in 12 years. It is a long drive of several hours. I tend to sleep overnight in Narrogin as the roads to Esperance are long and lonely. Fatigue is a dangerous companion. This place is a favourite stop in Ravensthorpe, a small town where this tiny shop does a roaring trade from tourists passing by. It sells all kinds of lollies (candy), ice creams, milk shakes and, of course, hot dogs. I love the Motown music she plays on repeat and it is the only place I buy a hot dog because it just seems the right place to eat one!
This tiny Mexican restaurant is in the north. It was several kms out of the town I was staying and there were no street lights on the way there. Ordinarily I would have returned back to the hotel as I had no idea where I was headed in the dark, but, much like falling in love, found it was worth the journey.
We have had a few days of fierce bushfires in the north, the smoke muting the sun during the day. I went outdoors at dusk to bring in the laundry and found this spectacular double rainbow over my backyard.
Although it has been a year of endings and beginnings, it is also a year when I have been scared out of my wits during flights and it is helping me to rethink some of my travel. Landing in Perth in a big plane from a mining town, I braced myself by holding on to the seat in front expecting the jarring of the tyres on tarmac when suddenly we were scooped up into the air again. There was no announcement, just silence while the plane circled for close to half an hour, over the ocean. People were murmuring waiting to hear the pilot speak and it seemed forever when he announced due to wind shear he could not land. Of all that I have experienced, that is one experience I rather not have again.
So what have I learned this year?
I’ve learnt to trust and it has strengthened my faith, not by doing more, but doing less. I’ve actively practiced acceptance and detachment in my everyday life (I had no other option, but to). And by doing so, found a new lease on life and an enormous sense of peace. Each day I make a concerted attempt at decluttering my life and environment. It is no longer a chore but something I look forward to every day. I buy only what I need. I only keep what I use. I honour the space I live in. I honour the space where my thoughts are kept. I honour the life I have been given.
I’ve arrived at this space because I found Nature is a healer and a teacher. We need to honour that.
So my wish for you is a simple one. Let Nature nurture your spirit. It is more powerful and richer, than any human headline.
Until next time
As always
a dawn bird
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…
This is Solo, a duckling I found on the banks of the lake near my home. She was part of a big family, but she caught my eye. I’ve written about her in a 
Solo has remained a duckling in memory. I suspect a careless driver ended her adventures one day. I never saw her again after the initial few days she roamed the neighbourhood. I’m sure Solo would agree, single or attached is irrelevant. It is how we live life is important. Tiny as she was, she was powerful in her presence. She taught me, if one looks, one finds, life is all about the unexpected. I’ve seen new generations of ducklings since then, but she remains warm in memory. Today my smile comes easier.
The flowers are almost gone. At least the obvious ones. The grass is less green and more blond by early summer warmth. Some trees have shed leaves. They reminded me of chocolate curls, so I trudged around planning my Christmas menu. It helped keep happy thoughts forefront.
I don’t recall seeing these large shrubs before. They were everywhere and pretty in pink. That’s what I find so amazing about being in the bush. What looks ordinary one season, is eye catching, the next.
There were tall grass tree spikes bursting in flower. They look ordinary from a distance, just tall and white. Close up, well, a star studded sabre, comes to mind.
These flowers grow on flannel grey shrubs. There are thousands of these flowers in bloom, or waiting to bloom. Ordinary? Not to my eye.
There were a few of these still fresh and blooming. They are exquisitely tiny. And yet, each puff is several flowers within a flower. I kept walking up to it and could see it up close but stepping away, lost it numerous times in the grass. Got to get that shot became a mantra! Photography has taught me patience and persistence. 
And some were still beautiful, well past their bloom. I had to tripod my legs to steady my hands that shook with the delight of each little flower. The fragility! And, tenacity!
I heard strange sounds above me. Sounds I haven’t heard before. They, more than likely, came from young parrots, hiding in tree hollows.
I bought coffee in town and headed back to the Lair. I saw a young kangaroo family, three in a mob. The male, impressive! He was almost as big as a deer.
His face veiled by cobwebs, his gorgeous ears, twitching, alert. We were eye to eye for a few minutes, each sizing the intent of the other.
There were no small birds at all, but seeing these flowers growing profusely, who can complain.
On the way home I spotted this in Crossman, growing just off the road among a grove of shady trees.
I stopped my car to take some pictures, forgetting this is Western Australia in spring. I was covered in bush flies within seconds! If you only knew what I went through for this pic!
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.
This is the main street. Yes, that’s it folks! Finding a parking spot is always a cinch!
I remember seeing this male zebra finch in the scrub while driving 80 km/hr. My ability to see birds in unexpected places, still amazes me! But like I’ve said before, if you look for it, you find it.
The skies here are awesome. During a storm or …
on a clear day, as Barbra sang, “you can see forever”.
I found this outside the public toilets at Pelican Point, a favourite place for locals to do a bit of kite surfing. It always makes me smile!
The cottage balcony faced forest. This was the view I woke to each day. The sun streamed in through mist. Kookaburras laughed and chortled. A smile travelled across my face, from ear to ear, and warmed me on the inside.
Each morning I rugged up warm and headed out to explore with a grateful heart that delighted in all that I saw.
The pink camellias took my breath away. Large as a man’s palm.
Then there were double camellias. The owner had left several in the cottage for me. Gorgeous!
I loved the white flowers, just as much.
The sunny jonquils bloomed despite the frost.
The white ones shimmered, too.
A clump of these, added colour.
Everywhere I looked, there was beautiful, delicate wattle, signalling winter.
I walked along country roads. Contented. At peace. Empowered. I have choice. This realisation, is freedom.
The gull stood still and watched the tide come in. From the road above, I did the same.
Then the gull then strode out purposefully to meet it.
It seemed to know where to stop. 
It stood still and waited.
The tide came in with bounty. The Pacific Gull knew this. This was time honoured instinct. Honed and practiced. No technology to guide it. It was a beautiful thing to observe. A moment of mind-body connection, for gull, and me.
The road out of Broome is initially a sealed one. Then comes the fun part!
About 90kms of unsealed road. I’ve driven up here with others on four occasions in different weather conditions. It has always been an adventure!
Sometimes one drives through deeply gutted and mousse like pindan (red) earth.
At other times one eats dust.
The road etiquette is pretty easy to adapt to. Ride the ridge to allow oncoming traffic pass safely.
I often despair watching children with hand held devices. Immersed in technology, they miss the world around them. So when I saw a young boy wetting a line on the beach, Pacific Seagull by his side, it made me smile. He could have been sitting in the hotel room playing video games. But he was out here at dawn, because he enjoyed the experience of what he was doing. He didn’t catch any fish. It was just the enjoyment of anticipation and being near the sea. He had a relationship with the environment. There is hope ….
I look at the ocean differently. The responsibility for keeping it pristine lies with each of us. The answer to a complex question ‘What can I do?” lies within the question. It starts with “I …”.
I look at the debris left behind by the tides each day. It’s the kind that makes me happy. Like watching a child fishing at the beach, it also makes me hopeful.
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!
I watched dawn break and fretted about the clouds. The small plane would have to punch through these, the thought making me feel sicker than I had been.
As the sun broke through, I saw a line of birds above.
On one side were the Cape Barren Geese, large, ungainly birds on ground, but graceful in flight.
Dozens on ibis, untidy in formation, also headed somewhere else. (I obviously need more practice with my new camera!).
Far across the Lake, on my right, was a flotilla of pelicans, dozens of them. On my left, a solitary white heron, posture perfect, even when alone.
Thinking that was my quota for the day, I started to drive out of the reserve slowly when I saw it, sitting all plumped up, large as a hen, a common bronze wing pigeon.
Preening, pretty as a peacock, in an unguarded moment, challenging the notion of “common”.
Near my car, a silver eye feeding. Usually they swarm in small groups but this one was alone.
Eye to eye. For a moment, it was heaven, right here on earth.
A Shared Space 
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