I woke at first light, at 4:40 am and headed to Woody Lake this morning in Esperance. It was my goodbye visit, at least, for this year. The smaller birds were out and about. A lone pelican claimed the lake. I claimed the rest of the reserve shared with birds. 
The tiny silvereye was young and bold, sitting exposed and facing the sun.
The Willy Wagtail chick was shiny as a new penny …
looking intently into the distance with wisdom in beady eyes.
The young crested pigeon was gorgeous with ruffled feathers.
What delighted me the most was the juvenile grey fantail.
This little one had the sweetest call, an overture that filled the canopy it sat underneath.
Then a moment of quiet, except for my heartbeat.
The young wattle bird found a perch here and there on banksia cones. The distinctive metallic call silenced, or perhaps not yet developed.
This is the first time I’ve seen a Western spinebill and try as I may, I could not get a better pic but I know I’ll be back next year for it.
I was busy this trip being my last for a couple of months. Plenty of things that needed tidying up. I returned to my hotel each evening, too tired to go out, even for a massage. I saved my energy for this morning. The sights and sounds were a revelation. I saw new life everywhere. It was exactly what I needed. This is the lure of bush walking. The message is always a simple one for me. Be prepared to connect.
Until next time
As always
a dawn bird
One of my favourite proverbs is “When one helps another, both are stronger”. I believe it is a German proverb. The picture above illustrates this. I’m told these birds bead together, wing to wing, to appear larger to raptors. If birds help each other, have humans lost the art and science of helping? I don’t believe so. The following story gives me hope.
I usually stay opposite the tree park. It is one of my favourite places to walk in the mornings. I stride across, purposefully, for the massive boab, the matriarch.
This time I found, like me, a butterfly needed a soft place to land.
High above, there were a few boab flowers coming into bloom. They are exquisite. Thick, creamy petals that fold over like heavy taffeta …
… the inside, emits the softest pearly light.
I wandered around for hours, the sense of oneness under these trees consolidated a promise to return.
Beyond the green is Lily Creek Lagoon where this tiny bird held me captive. 
On this morning, Mother Boab taught me, nothing says new life more eloquently, than a sprig of green on gnarly, old limbs. So here I am, typing my post, experiencing life differently.
I sat in the shadow of roses, their heads heavy with petalled beauty.
The cafe garden was a world apart from the Wheatbelt, where I sat roadside to eat a sandwich in the car and watch this quintessentially rural scene.
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!
The Big Croc is the first thing you see as you enter the small town of less than 800 people. To quote the late Steve, Crikey! How did I miss this! It is so huge I couldn’t get the whole sculpture in the frame. 
Being off season, there was nothing open. The supermarket, too, shut early. Someone told us about a bakery, just down the road, they said. We soon saw the sign. We knew immediately, we were far from home.
This was outdoors on the way to the loo! Yes this is crocodile country, as if one could forget. There are reminders everywhere.
One of the things I wanted to show my travelling companion was the view from the Five Rivers Lookout. Because I had been here during the day, I was yearning to see it at sunset, too. I knew it would be amazing. The road up the the lookout, which is around 330 metres above sea level and the highest point of the town, is narrow and winding. The views across the mud flats, stunning. I’m surprised there are not more accidents as people peer over the edge.
We were taking in the sheer expanse of country where the rivers Ord, Pentecost, King, Durack and Forrest join forces to meld into the Cambridge Gulf. The waters must be teeming with crocs. There was an abattoir here once. The crocs remember this. They often hang around the jetty, although the abattoir closed its doors in the mid 1980s. We were taking in the views when I saw them. I could not believe my eyes. A tiny rock wallaby seated high above the town. Can you spot it on the rock between the two trees, just above the 2 in the date?
They were part of a small group, some as tiny as a cat. 
Their coats looked soft and fluffy with beautiful markings. Their feet dipped in dark chocolate.
The eyes large and luminous.
Look at that pose!
They were nimble among the high rocks and perfectly comfortable in our company.
One even sat facing us. Our delight, the evening’s entertainment, it would seem!
Soon it was sunset. The sun slipped away beyond the five rivers. 
A red disc dazzled in the darkened sky. It was time to leave.
The cabins were fantastic. Clean and high among the tree canopy. It was reasonably secure and no geckos indoors! The place is so isolated. The managers told us they never lock anything here so I threw caution to the winds and slept with the door unlocked.
I woke early, too early, and headed to the walkway. The billabong was alive with birds and wildlife.
In this harsh landscape the green in trees was vivid.
As was the jewel like emerald green in the tree ants.
I’m not sure what this bird was. Researching it online it seems similar to the Asian Koel. But in the Kimberley? I’m not sure. It was black and navy blue with ruby eyes.
How’s this for perfect mirror image!
In this harsh landscape I found the most delicate jasmine like flowers on vines that entwined over the walkway.
Below me, a lone wallaby. I watched it nervously, hoping the resident saltwater crocodile was having a snooze.
I learnt later, this species is called ‘Pretty Face’ wallaby. It has delicate shading and a white stripe across the jawline.
This bird was magnificent! Some kind of pheasant I think.
The double barred finches swarmed water side.
As did the gouldian finches. Their colours were less vivid than the ones I’ve seen before.
Some had banana yellow beaks.
At first I thought the tree was shedding leaves!
My visit north will not be green. It will be encased in the fine red dust of the Kimberley.
I’m not scared of spiders at all, but I am of reptiles.
And (sensibly) scared of crocodiles.
Across the road from my hotel in Kununurra, my first stop, will be Celebrity Tree Park and Lily Creek Lagoon where I walk early morning, camera in hand. I love that this major highway is like a suburban side road.
There will be dragon flies with net wings teaching me to balance.
In groves of ancient boab trees, I’ll find a mother’s embrace, long overdue.
Despite the heat, I’m hoping there are lily filled billabongs, like ones I’ve seen before.
And migratory birds who are still calling the Kimberley home, before they fly.
The Gilbert’s dragon is known as the “ta ta” lizard and found in the hot Kimberley region, about 2000 km north of Perth. They run across hot surfaces, pausing to lift one leg off the ground and wave to cool it. before doing the same with the other. When not running and waving, they are still and bask in the sun.
The Welcome Swallows in Bunbury love the sun. In the mornings, they seem to prefer to do this than fly.
Then in Merredin, there’s the Magpie Lark, with the best vantage point in the gum tree to catch first light.
The young Pink Galah does not bask in anyone’s glory but its own as it gazes down at me at home.
There are honeymooners, basking in love, who race to kiss in dawn light, at Entrance Point, Broome.
While this backpacker threw caution to the wind at Wyalup Rocky Point in Bunbury as she watched the sun go down alone.
Much like her I enjoyed my solitude at Cable Beach, Broome.
Where I found, one heart warmed by sunshine, is better than an entwined pair scorched by rue.
The drive is on a lonely highway. The solitude in magnificent landscape, exhilarating.
We stopped for a few minutes rest to stretch our legs when in the far distance my zoom caught something on the horizon. So we drove towards it.
The memorial astonished us. It was huge. Did it start with just one stone? How did people know it was here?
And nearby a smaller, personalised memorial to loved ones, long passed.
As we left the area, in this desolate landscape a tree stood frozen. A silent reminder, it once danced in the breeze. So I take the cue.
I found the wildflowers were still blooming in the fields around the airport.
In a stiff breeze, the flowers rustled. It was music to my ears.
I know the Welcome Swallows love sitting on the rails, facing the sun. Sometimes they get used to my presence and accommodate my curiosity. I’ve learned to extend the lens only when they look away, as movement is always a signal for flight.
To my surprise I found some Swallows on the ground near my feet. 
Fear set aside, they were busy with nest building, focused on task.
A slight movement from the corner of my eye caught my attention, a fairy blue wren darting and hopping among the foliage. No matter how many times I see them, the flash of blue always makes my heart skip a beat. 
The male wren stood still for a moment. So perfect. It looked like an enamelled ornament, with blues upon blues found in sky and sea.
In contrast, the female’s beauty, is subtle. Perhaps this is nature’s intention.
While the male distracts she tends to her family, almost invisible, among debris.
I got to Bunbury just moments before the sun slipped into the Indian Ocean. A moment of pause for me and others too it would seem.
This morning I was up early and headed to Big Swamp where the bottlebrush is blooming.
Among the reedy grass I caught a glimpse of a swamp hen chick, not yet purple, blue and red.
The Welcome Swallow chick was a delightful ball of fluffy feathers. It is so new, it didn’t know fear of me.
There were chicks every where making a silent call for food.
A young New Holland honeyeater obliged with a moment of stillness.
Then came the Splendid Blue Fairy Wren, in his gorgeous feathers of blue.
After a frantic game of chase, he rested with his mate.
On the other side of the boardwalk, the big cormorant ignored my presence. I’ve not seen this type of cormorant here before. It sat on the branch for the whole of two hours I was there. Probably still there!
I found a sculpture in Kulin, left behind after the last ‘Blazing Swan’ festival. The festival runs to a similar theme to The Burning Man. This was the swan’s egg. How did I not know about this festival! When I returned home, I looked at the website. It looks awesome!
In the Wheatbelt I also watched some birds, like me, work hard to create their nest.
The wildflower season was ending in Mingenew in the Midwest, and although past their prime, some were still sunny side up.
While in other places, there was harmonious diversity in all colours.
I came across details in tiny insects that the naked eye could not see.
I walked along the walking trail high above West Beach in Esperance where teenage surfers start their day and where I like to start mine. They stick together in a pod and have each other’s back. Earlier this year a Great White hung around for hours just 100 metres from shore. Although I watch them with a mother’s eye, I can’t help but admire their youthful dare.
I’ve come across extraordinary, in the ordinary. Reminders for me that any job is ordinary, but how we perceive what we do, takes it to another level.
I examined the wonderful weirdness of Nature closely and found I was wrong, there’s nothing weird about delicate intricacy.
The striking vividness of colour on shrubs stopped me in my tracks.
And also when I caught sight of an errant Running Postman on the ground.
Color in nature can be striking when plain.
Or subtle in varying hues.
There are also some attention seekers saying, ‘look at me’!
And just when I thought I was alone while bush walking, I realised, I had company.
A Shared Space 
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