Between Williams and Narrogin, Wheatbelt Region, Western Australia
Last night in the darkness
unable to sleep
I counted sheep
while you were sleeping
your heartbeat, mine
oh! that familiar rhythm
lulled my body
until next time
a dawn bird
In response to Photo a Week Challenge – Sleeping
I wake, tracing the ridges on once smooth skin
The cobbled path of scars I take to the eastern sky, is slow
Upright, I stretch and bend, still flexible,
some even say strong and resilient
But me? I’m not sure anymore.
Boots on, I trudge under gum trees, green from rain, not tears
My footfall is now lighter, alone was a heavy load,
so I swapped with solitude many years ago,
a fair exchange
to hear the uncaged bird sing, the song of freedom with me.
Or so I thought.
Another day, another dollar …
Nightfall, I return to where I started from
Reaching in that empty space
Where you once used to be
And, I wonder
Would I be happier, if you were still with me?
The question remains unanswered.
a dawn bird
I’m no gardener, but I’m forever thinking about my garden. I now live in a house where I have planned different types of gardens in small isolated pockets. My vision is yet to come to fruition, but thinking about this, is a happy place to be.
When I was married my husband and I were constantly at odds with how the garden should look. Forward thinking for the time, he was insistent on a garden with native trees and shrubs as they are plants that require little maintenance and water. I, on the other hand, wanted an English garden with lavender, roses, geraniums, hydrangeas, and cottage plants. He indulged my love for this to a point. When my marriage ended I had a hedge of 14 white iceberg roses that bloomed incessantly with thousands of flowers. Far from being a reminder of him, they served to remind me he had worked hard outdoors so I could enjoy the view. It was a memory worth keeping so I continued to keep it alive with more flowers. The only time I can remember gardening, is when I decided to turn the upper level into a white garden and that space had only white flowers of all kinds. I wish I had taken pictures. It was beautiful. I looked forward to my alone times in the white garden. I shed all my other roles when I was here except one, student. On reflection, it was a space where I gave my body breath each day and where I created a new life.
I moved from that space, in more ways than one and found a world of colour. I was fortunate to find this in a lifestyle that meets all my needs. Each day I work towards that life, one that strengthens the core of me. I make sure I stop each day for a few minutes. I now see colour and detail. 
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.
They remind me how far I’ve come.
Until next time
As always
a dawn bird
I’ve been waiting to share my memory of this aunt. The time never seemed right. But tonight seems an opportune time, as she was a teacher by profession and today being Teacher’s Day.
She was my mother’s oldest sister who came after two sons in a sibship of ten. She was beautiful in youth, chiselled features, a twinkle in her eye, long dark hair draped over one shoulder. She remained that way as she aged.
My aunt had a profound sense of responsibility for her siblings and cared for them like they were her children. They, in turn, respected her authority. She was an indulged daughter who was known by her nickname, Baby, by her parents, and later siblings that followed. As the nieces and nephews came along, she asked us to call her ‘Baby Darling’. Her reasoning was simple. She never married and did not have anyone to call her darling. We accepted this.
Her name tripped off our tongue with easy, “Baby Darling this …”, “Baby Darling that …”. The memory of this makes the child in me smile. She had a closet in her bedroom that she kept locked. It was a treasure trove. It was always overstocked with perfumes and chocolates, and we crowded around her for the treats she shared generously. Despite all the beautiful bottles of perfume, I recall she had a strong preference for Tiger Balm for pain. Imagined or real.
Unlike my mother, who was always immaculately groomed, my aunt spent her day in PJs and slippers. Her reasoning, was simple. She was home. It was her castle where she was queen. She could do what she liked. If my mother objected and pleaded with her to dress for visitors, she would say, if they were offended, they could come back when she was dressed … which was never … and then follow this statement with a peal of laughter! We loved her eccentricity.
She was fiercely protective of her siblings and the extended family. She was the protector of all secrets. As teenagers we confided in her with absolute trust. Our secrets were safe in the vault of her heart. She giggled like a young girl at our stories of teen love, then she would share little snippets of her love life.
There was a sadness in her life. It made her eyes sparkle. Oh! the sweet pain of forbidden, unattainable love, far from being a burden, made her glow from the inside. Tennyson’s words, “Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all”, far from loss, was a triumph that glided her path.
As she walked with us step by step from childhood to teen years and beyond, little did she know, the children at her knee had learnt the best lesson about life.
Until next time
As always
a dawn bird
A Shared Space 
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