Returning home later than I would have liked due to a delayed flight, I was tired when I got to bed. Unusually tired. I dared myself to reflect knowing when I am most vulnerable, I am brutally honest with myself. It’s times like this I question the choices I’ve made in my personal life. If left unchecked my thoughts take me to places I should not visit. Having completed one too many trips this year, I had to face the truth. I’m no spring chicken. That was harsher reality I would liked to have faced and nothing to do with vanity. It meant something had to change when I love all aspects of my working life, which, although strenuous, I have adopted the mind set, this is my calling.
I go to places where others don’t or can’t go but in a system of universal health care, I believe that equality is demonstrated in practice. If people cannot come to me for whatever reason, and I’m able to go to them, I do. Does it leave me at times, especially at night, exhausted? For sure. But when I wake, my spirit is rested, my body uncoils and I spring into action because I believe what I do is honoring the commitment I made years ago.
I’ve just returned from the Midwest. We were busy with a full schedule. I like my work there as I team up with someone I enjoy working with. We often say how lucky we are to be doing the work we do and importantly, enjoy what we do. Working with someone like this makes the load easier.
Catching the last plane out, I had more time on my hands so I planned to complete the endless pending reports but before I sat down to do this, I decided to go out and take some pictures. I’m glad I did.
I see symbolism in the trees in Geraldton. The trees in this region continue to grow despite experiencing a stiff breeze all the time. And, when growth stops, the trees lean but never break, they are poised in silent dance with a challenging partner. Aren’t we all?
I watched seagulls for a while and their beautiful glass eyes and their sleek profile and wondered if I am the only person who sees the beauty in them?
The sea shimmered in the afternoon sun at St Georges Beach. A young woman stepped out of the water, and as her car was parked next to mine, she started to talk to me. She was from the other side of Australia and mentioned having grown up near a beach, she always seeks the water at least once a day. She thought I was a tourist and I told her I was working that day but took time off to breathe. “What’s there to see if you’re not in the water?” she asked me with youthful curiosity. A water nymph! A mermaid on land! She towelled her hair vigorously, her question almost a dare that was softened with laughter. I see seagulls, shimmering sea and leaning trees, I told her. My face must have changed expression when I said this. She looked around her and said, “oh yeah!” slowly like she had just noticed the landscape. She told me she could see what I could see and that she could see photography was my ‘water’. She also laughed and said, she would never look at a seagull the same way again after I had highlighted the beauty I see in them! The encounter was just what I needed. My prayer each time I set foot outdoors is to show me something beautiful that I can share with others. Yesterday afternoon, my prayers were answered again.
This morning the home was silent and cool. I made a list of things to do. I’m not sure how it’s possible, but the list seemed longer than yesterday. I went to the kitchen to get coffee to rev up my day when I saw a gift given to me about two years ago had transformed.
The hoya plant is beautiful. I had one years ago that was a prolific bloomer and given to me as a cutting by an elderly lady who later passed on. I treasured it but my elderly gardener did not know the sentiment and inadvertently destroyed it. For some reason I never bought one again to replace it even though I love the blooms. Then two years ago another lady gave me a cutting quite spontaneously from her garden. Protected from my gardener, it has been sitting at the kitchen window, a bare stem with two leaves. The hoya flowers bloom all year and are not seasonal.
This morning, on a cool autumn day, the gift bloomed and brought spring indoors. I feel youthful, once more.
Until next time
As always
a dawn bird
The sand drift creates amazing dunes. I’ve posted a pic in the previous post. I sit for a few minutes enjoying the sea sculpt the land around me and then from the safety of my car (from all that sand), I love zooming in. I know on busy days we love a beach walk, but did you know you walk on a bejewelled carpet?
The kite surfers loves this beach for the strong winds. I just love it for what it is. A shimmering sea.
As the day wound down I saw a grandmother fishing. It flooded me with emotion. She sat on a chair while wetting a line, the grandchildren were curious and ran around but checked in every few minutes. A circle of security unfolding before me and such a wonderful memory for the grandchildren, of time spent with her. I never knew my grandmothers, so I experienced this moment with a sense of joy and sadness.
The sunset across the water, where you’ll find Pelican Point, is always stunning.
And, in the morning, the water is like glass.
I love the mangroves as the waters recede. I know the waterbirds love it too. I don’t know how but I managed to see the tiny shoveller and got some beautiful pics. For now, I’ll just share one with you.
The waterbird seemed more interested feeding on mud skippers than the crabs of which there were thousands.
Had the crabs not been moving, I would not have seen them either. In some places they looked like a carpet being lifted as they crawled across undulating mud flats.
It was pre-dawn. 
I opened the blinds wider and was greeted by dawn over a sleeping town.
I love the sound of my boots crunching on dirt tracks. The sudden bounce of the shy kangaroo. The sense of being alone but not lonely. Birdsong in the tree canopy.
To me there is nothing more Wheatbelt that the sight of a pink galah in a gum tree. This was a young one.
It was a fairy floss pink.
Foxes Lair seemed like a bird nursery. There were young ring neck parrots on the ground.
The little redcap parrot joined in.
The junior Western rosella was busy feasting on gumnuts before me.
Then took it up on a tree to enjoy the rest of it.
Once it flew away I waited patiently in anticipation. It returned in full view of me. Pretty as a picture, don’t you think?
I caught the last rays of sun through these flowers. Love the detail in the leaves.
The bush is getting ready for autumn. The sphere banksia groves were a brilliant green lace.
It was late at dusk. The bush was quiet. The birds were resting, their day done, when I saw this Painted Lady flower vine climbing up a tall tree, the limbs looked frosted but on zoom, the flowers were gorgeous in detail. These flowers are quite small and grow in clumps.
I love this spot in Australind. It is the perfect foreground to Bunbury. The wetlands has a lot of waterbirds. It is beautiful at sunset.
I watched folks taking time out. So I picked up on their cue and stayed longer. By the time I got back to Bunbury, I had forgotten how irritable I had been.
I’m now home for a few hours before flying out. This morning I walked in the garden, coffee in hand, to the sound of birds. The lorikeets, the magpie larks, the wattlebirds, the crows, the magpies, the occasional laugh of the kookaburra, the swish of the wings of waterbirds heading to the lake. I also found the pink crepe myrtle is in full bloom, a lovely bouquet reaching to the sky. A beautiful surprise, blooming in one corner of my garden, just for me.
I stood at the window and there it was. Flitting around under the patio. It feeds off the insects in the cobwebs, and flies around with ‘crumbs’ stuck to his face. I watched it practice fantail, unsuccessfully, and smiled like a parent while gazing at it with affection.
The feel of walking bare feet on sea debris.
Seeing my touchstone again on Cable Beach, before it is permanently part of the sea. (I’ve written about this rock platform in a previous post, titled Narratives).
Experiencing a moment when a tiny Lesser Sand Plover, stands like a mountain before me.
Standing below a red collared lorikeet in Kununurra wondering how did it get that shaggy look!
Looking into the glassy eyes of the Inland Thornbill.
Experiencing the delight at finding a button quail on the front lawn of a hotel, so tiny, I thought it was a mouse. The mother quail stayed a fraction longer, so I could take a picture of her beautiful feathered herringbone cloak.
Spending time with kingfishers, silent in trees above me.
And in the Midwest, where the only clouds are between wheat fields and sky.
Waking to find the colours of sunset at my doorstep, at dawn.
Spending time at the beach where I am 20 feet taller
and knowing my heart is whole again.
These joys await in the not too distant future, I know for sure. But for now, like the tiny Lesser Sand Plover I’ll ignore the waves of work and focus on just what’s before me. Work.
This time the bird stayed on the twig, aloof.
The gaze, intent.
Ever watchful.
Within a week the behaviour changed. The bird became territorial.
Every time I went to the laundry line or patio. It would watch me from a distance.
It would display the tail, the distinctive fantail and chirp excitedly.
It found a high spot, a natural arbour made by the branches of the mulberry tree.
One day it pulled itself up to look bigger and then swooped me.
One morning, unable to go outdoors, I aimed the camera at the mulberry tree. That’s when I saw the nest the Willy Wagtail had been defending. I respected the need for protection and never got to photograph the chick/s. I did find an empty eggshell one day under the mulberry tree and was happy with that.
A Shared Space 
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