In each town I visit, my schedule often runs the same. I make time for camera and me. It’s a priority.
Take early mornings in a small town in the Wheatbelt region of Western Australia. I prefer the nature reserve in the mornings. It is filled with sunlight, birdsong and flowers.
In autumn, the Mallee gum trees are frosted with blossoms.
I’ve come to learn, the Australian Ringneck parrots, love these gum trees too. I follow the scatter of gum flowers from one trail to another. 
There are boughs of flowers, and sometimes, even a neat posy.
And the ones that are past their prime, are still beautiful.
Sometimes, just a hint of colour in the scrub.
Delicate buds, waiting to bloom.
The Prickly Dryandra is favoured by the smaller birds, who appear after the parrots have left.
But not this time. They were sitting on the tree branches, highly visible to the eye.
This one took my breath away.
And this one did the same.
I remember a time when going to work meant stress, thinking for three, battling peak hour traffic, arriving late.
No more.
When I’m in this town, I wake early and head out to the reserve. I have time to return to my accommodation, get dressed for work and leave by 8:29 and arrive early for a 8:30 start.
Yes, I’m counting my blessings.
Life has changed.
Or, perhaps, I have.
Until next time
As always
a dawn bird
I’ve lived for over 25 years in my neighbourhood and had never stopped to watch a white heron in flight. I do now.
I never realised, the beige of the Wheatbelt is beautiful at dawn. I do now.
Who knew a front garden filled with roses, is a welcome like no other. I do now.
Sunlight warms the whitest iceberg. I do now.
In a forest, the trees are not green, it is the leaves that make it vivid. I do now.
Previously my hiking boots stomped on leaves and stones, ignoring the fallen one, tortoise shelled by age and sun. My steps are now lighter. I do now.
My curiosity was blunted. I never stopped to wonder why. I do now.
I didn’t know, the Black Swan raises cygnets, as white as snow. I do now.
And, when I’m not home, snowdrops bloom at the front door. I do now.
I didn’t know life was meant to be lived, eye to eye. I do now.
I parked my car in the driveway and found the pink roses looked fatigued too. 
Strewn with rose petals, my front garden looked like a wedding had taken place.
While climbing roses on the arbor, reluctant to let summer go, clung on. There are ‘pockets’ of garden around my property. A legacy of the previous owner, a florist. It is a delight! Something seems to be blooming somewhere, making it always a garden. Being home so infrequently and for short visits, I enjoy looking around to see what lies in wait. I’m never disappointed.
No muted shades for this little one in the side garden. Reflecting the vividness of sunset.
And, there were others, still beautiful, before they fade away.
The geraniums always bloom. 
They are a welcome splash of colour in winter.
This shrub is covered in spokes of purple blooms.
She saw colours more vibrant
than any painting in a gallery.
And when colours were muted
she found, they still told a story.
She searched for the Cape Barren Geese, at every trip to Esperance and found the giant bird, doing the impossible. Looking elegant.
Her eyes held a joey’s gaze while it snuggled deep within the mother’s pouch. It was something she only read about.
She walked with waders until they found the perfect palette for her to capture the moment.
She delighted in the ice cream pink wave of flowers, she found one day, in spring.
I found them in my garden.
Viola! in the strawberry, waiting to fruit.
Among bush tracks.
Against a fence.
In the neighbour’s garden.
In the eyes of the magpie lark, as it picked through the remnants of my breakfast.
In the eyes of a sick dog, who knows she is loved.
In my eyes, when I found the heart I left behind.
And, when I walked among the ‘sea clouds’.
I found my very own Milky Way.
So I took it home, and like a child at Halloween, emptied my pockets of loot.
The rocks covered with barnacles.
And there are sea creatures, just as encrusted.
I always visit this slab of rock. It is jewel like with barnacles.
So enthralled by it for several visits, I failed to see one just beyond, and closer to the sea.
There is life in tiny crevices. The ibis knows this.
So does the heron that walks with intent. While the seagull photo bombs, also with intent.
Above the roar of waves, I can hear the crunch of footsteps on a shell encrusted beach.
And, amid the noise and beach clutter, the tiny sand plover takes a moment to stand still.
“I leave this by your ear for when you wake,
The footfall of blue dragonflies, on a lily carpet”
I am home now. The rainbow lorikeets are in the tree, screeching. The beautiful sounds of the currawong, echoing. The flapping sounds of big winged birds as they head for the lake, above me. The musical fluted call of the Willie Wagtail, outside my window.
I hear them with my eyes closed.
The big winged raptors in the trees.
The jacana. Oh! what big feet for a delicate, elegant bird!
The white faced heron, silent and poised.
I take roads less travelled.
I seek illumination in trees.
I find life where there should be none.
And find a blade of grass, is worth my scrutiny.
Breathe in. Breathe out. My senses now acute.
There is someone having breakfast above me. I move my lens away from the remnants cast aside carelessly.
On the other side, the rhythmic thump on dry leaves tells me there’s a grey kangaroo in there. Somewhere.
I close my eyes. I hear the sea in the Marri tree tops. This, in deep Wheatbelt country.
The tops are crowned with flowers, with some blossoms hanging low, like fruit of the vine.
And, that’s when I saw her. She looked bewildered at my presence.
But not as bewildered as me, to find a shiny bauble in this bush country.
Breathtaking!
He steadied himself, then walked down the stairs. His dreadlocks streaming behind him, like kelp.
He faced the ocean. This, Poseidon.
As well as a mother knows her chick.
Birds often pair for life, each the beloved of the other.
Two walk as one. Well, almost.
Others huddle close together to appear as one … to large predatory raptors.
Have you seen dragonflies mate? In a word, violently. Finding a beloved, they end the battle, in heart-shaped unity.
On weekends, kayaks rest side by side signalling, the beloveds are nearby.
Yes, to be loved and beloved, is in our nature.
A Shared Space 
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