As a teen my knees buckled at the sight of a young man playing guitar. I still think there is something magical watching someone play the guitar, more so than any other musical instrument. Add blue jeans, a horse and campfire and the picture speaks of freedom. I experienced this on a holiday a couple of years ago.
One of the most memorable holidays I have ever had was in the far north of Western Australia, in the East Kimberley Region. I stayed at a cattle station for nearly a week. It was pretty basic accommodation, open air shower, cattle, horses, emu and wallaby country. The beautiful brolas (cranes) called at night. I would lie in my cabin in the dark and record the sounds of big winged birds fly overhead in their hundreds, and all the other nature calls of the night.
I’m leaving again in a few hours for a few weeks of hard travel, some work, some play. I’ll take the memory of Joe’s lifestyle with me.
Until then
a dawn bird
In response to RDP Tuesday – Guitar
via Daily Prompt: Uncompromising
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.
Later that day, my hearing acute, I heard his spurs clink as he walked the length of the verandah and out of sight. He returned showered, unrecognizable, without the red dust that powdered him. 
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…
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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.
The Willie Wagtail is always great company.
The cape gooseberry bush has one or two lanterns at the moment. I’m not sure if it is the right time for it to fruit. My mother used to make the best gooseberry jam. The taste of fresh fruit is an indelible memory, so I eye it with anticipation.
The last of the autumn roses have found a space to peek through the fence. 
Although autumn is soon claiming them …
there’s still some summer left in leaves.
I’ve come to learn, when there are no roses, leaves and raindrops will do.
And, who knew that plain old snail, lived under a gilded roof.
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.
A Shared Space 
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