I love fresh flowers. Sadly, with frequent travel it is a luxury I cannot indulge in. I do return home from each trip to a front garden full of roses. They seem to bloom profusely, partly because I have given my neighbours permission to cut as many as they like for themselves. It’s a win-win situation.
Last week a bunch of flowers was also a white flag to irate neighbours who I hadn’t met before and much to their frustration could not contact me when the fence blew down.
When my son was about five, the neighbour who lived across the road from us lost her husband to cancer. My son promptly stated he wanted to give her flowers. I cut some iceberg roses and placed them in a laundry basket as I snipped at the bushes, thinking I’d keep some for myself and do up a bunch for her. No! My son insisted, she was to have all of them. The image of a five year old child staggering across our front yard to her home, laundry basket filled with white iceberg roses, is a precious memory.
My recent memories are embedded in flowers. I’ve found in this State something is always blooming somewhere.
Oh! the irony of living in a happy place and not knowing it!
This morning I walked around in Foxes Lair. There were so many flowers to see and enjoy. It was overwhelming. 
The long view was beautiful. But what was at my feet?
I found this straggly plant, probably a weed. Just green foliage but wait, there was a hint of colour. It is imperceptible even now when I look for it.
I waited for the sunrise and returned to the plant.
I’m not sure if it is a weed or not but it lifted my flagging spirits.
The tea tree flowers were growing everywhere, sprayed here and there, over leaf debris.
Then there was this gorgeous plant. Exquisite.
This enamel orchid took my breath away. I’ve never seen one this tiny.
I looked deep into tiny flowers. Each perfect in creation.
This trigger plant was a stronger pink compared to those that were in the palest pink hues.
A gorgeous succulent.
There were all shades of purple. This one so vivid against grey debris.
I walked around Foxes Lair this morning, listening to the crunch of my boots on dirt and dried leaves, the twittering of birds, the intermittent cacophony of kookaburras, the shower of gum nuts from above.
I know one thing for sure. I can’t wait to return.
Until next time
As always
a dawn bird
I stopped a moment and took a picture.
And then another
And one more … I felt like a new mother, inspecting every nub, like counting toes on newborn feet.
I stopped by Minninup Pool, just outside Collie. 
How many shades of yellow can one find? 
I had heard the underside of the blue enamel orchid is beautiful. It is.
In nature, when differences come together, it creates nothing but spectacular beauty. 
A wild orchid.
A bottlebrush waiting to bloom.
I found hundreds of these white and pink lily like flowers in Margaret River.
The flowers were growing on stalks a few feet high.
And these poms of white found a place in wooded areas too.
Her garden is a delight. I stop to take a picture here and there.
The ornamental almond tree was frosted white.
The ornamental peach tree bloomed elsewhere.
There were bulbs bejewelled with bees.
I found this in one corner, my camera sees what she hasn’t in a long time. “How on earth did that bloom there?”, she asks me, and we both laugh at her surprise. 
I loved the white flowers in another corner and asked her what they were. She tells me, they are English May, a cutting from her grandmother’s garden. It’s something she cherishes. Not hard to see why.
She is seated on a plastic chair, crutches to the side, water hose in hand dousing dirt in front of her with about 15 silver eye keeping her company. They dig into the damp soil for tasty morsels. She giggles like a little girl at their antics.
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.
At first the mother duck swam serenely past him with ducklings in tow.
He watched them glide by and drew attention, the sound a mere burble that made ripples around him, saying “I’m here”.
She ignored him. Then his body language changed as he exposed more and more of his chin lobe and moved faster, with a speed that took me by surprise.
He followed the female duck drawing closer, becoming increasingly relentless in his pursuit.
I thought the ducklings looked afraid as they moved towards their mother. She stopped and studied the moment.
Then she intervened, putting herself between the male and her ducklings. She engaged in a dance with him this way as they glided past me, in a back and forth.
He chased her repeatedly, the ripples around him becoming wider.
She ignored him. He arched his body into a bow, chin lobe prominent and brush tail stiffened in a final still moment.
Then he exploded. The water erupted around him. In one desperate moment, he put on his best show. She did what ducks do best. With ducklings in tow, she paddled on, unimpressed.
When new life begins.
And young ones are nurtured.
When one finds colour erupting in unexpected places.
And even succulents on beach sand bloom in the warmth.
A time when the mulla mulla appear in their hundreds of thousands across the arid mining country, with mauve spears tipped in pink.
Or one finds a florist shop, roadside on an empty highway, that gave me pause to think.
A clump of cowslip orchids, found unexpectedly, in debris.
Manna acacia blooming below a canopy of gum trees.
A spider orchid, dancer like, posturing mid-furl.
An emu in the wild, caught mid-stride, long neck perfectly curled.
The tiny inland thorn bill with yolk egg feathers, singing for mate, in spring.
A Willy Wagtail, with bling in her wing.
Sunset in an autumn leaf.
Pink ballerina tutus in shrubs, just below the trees.
Ballgowns draped on shrubs, more beautiful than found on any red carpet.
A trio of pristine white cornettes.
A gift from and for the sea, left on shore by someone unknown. But it spoke to, and, for me.
There is just a cyclone fence that separates the tarmac from the airport. I’ve been on flights where the co-pilot stepped out and helped unload the luggage. Everyone here is, “mate”. Give me this over luxury any day!
This is the arrival lounge. It is quite possible there was a water bottle dispenser nearby, and some toilets, but that was it.
Arrival/Departure lounge. That’s it!
The beach is 60km long and the coquina shells are about 10m deep. One needs sunglasses here! It is sheer brilliance.
The sea did not look too far away, but it was a deceptively long walk. 
Interestingly, the wind has furrowed long gullies, so one disappears from sight while walking towards the ocean, dipping and surfacing, like a fun ride.
Trillions of shells as far as the eye can see.
And shells within shells.
We reached the water finally. The colours of blue, beautiful.
The sea shimmered like plastic wrap.
On one ridge, I found spring in a bed of shells.
To the novice, this is just rubble. Not me. My heart raced as I walked around. I anticipated seeing some wild orchids, just as the blog had published.
Soon I found the first orchids. 
Tiny bulbs. I had never seen orchid bulbs before.
The donkey orchids bloomed, stained like tortoise shells, in their hundreds.
Among the grass there were spider orchids.
Oh! so graceful in bud!
When blooming, they danced around, ta da ing their way across grass and rubble.
Their heart, exquisite.
Some bloomed in trios, each more graceful than their neighbour, in still posture.
I headed over to the Lookout where there is a steep gradient over granite rock to bush land below. I’ve found white sugar orchids here before, so I went looking. I wasn’t disappointed!
There were some that were stronger in colour. Each detail so perfect in dusk light.
Others, tinted white.
And others, deep in the bush, barely pink.
The Lair was a florist shop. There are thousands of flowers and different species every few steps. Instead of rubber necking, I decided to explore one side of the track before exploring the other. I also decided to look for the smaller flowers that the eye can barely see.
I found tiny purple tassle flowers.
Blue lechenaultia blooming in some corners.
While others responded more slowly to sunlight. Blue and purple flowers are more difficult to see in dense bushland where white, pink and yellow are dominant colours in spring.
I spent a lot of time with the exquisitely tiny paper everlasting flowers. They are barely visible to the naked eye.
They love the sun and open at first rays before one’s eyes.
How cute is this?
I loved the white flowers too, interspersed among the pinks.
The tiny pink fairy orchids were scattered here and there.
The sundew were less frequently seen this month. I love these flowers.
The hakea tassle flowers were frosting large bushes, white with pink tips.
I found this beautiful white orchid, demurely blooming behind a log.
I thought this was moss but it looks like a succulent of some kind.
This was the only pimelea I found during my walk. Beautiful!
I heard a squawk above my head, only to find a young redcap parrot, all ruffled to greet the day.
While another young parrot groomed nearby.
On the ground, the red breasted robin kept me company.
Who doesn’t love a roaring, orange campfire burning in a ten gallon drum, like one I experienced at a cattle station in the Kimberley. Just add billy tea, cowboys and music, and I’m in a happy place again.
A blazing sunset at Cable Beach, Broome. One of my favourite beaches to visit.
The orange sands of Cemetery Beach, in Port Hedland, where we waited for turtles hatchlings, patiently. Yes, the beach is across from the town’s cemetery!
The beautiful ranges in the far north Kimberley that erupt from the ground. The light play is stunning at sunset or dawn.
The delicate wings of a dragonfly, etched in gold and orange.
The silent full moon that creeps up at night, unexpectedly.
The soft sage like eyes of an emu.
A lantern at dusk, that signals, this is home.
Dimpled.
Flaky.
Frilled.
Undressed.
Stripped.
Striped.
Painted.
Peeled.
Bejewelled.
The boot sits outside my study window. It reminds me life is fragile, and living in community makes one stronger. I take time to talk to strangers. They love to talk about their community, I’ve found. Like the old boot that no longer dances, but the story of its new life, can still make a heart sing. So I consciously and mindfully live life closer to the source and Source.
The clump of snowdrops at my doorstep has grown, having arrived three weeks later than they did last year. They seem to have survived another year of my old gardener’s enthusiasm for clearing flower beds and his failing eyesight!. I looked through dozens of flowers and found myself wanting to see what was under the hood. Now I know!
In the back garden the Cape Gooseberry is fruiting. I love this fruit and they hardly ever stay long enough on the bush without me picking off the lanterns while still green. I found this one on the ground, encased in gossamer, the detail, exquisite.
I know while bush walking, there are tiny flowers and foliage to search for and delight in. I also know some folks are intent on the walk itself, and miss what my eyes search for. I also know that’s their journey, not mine. So I let them walk by.
What I search for in bush country, are the tiny wild orchids that grow in impossible places. They remind me of a plaque I have in my study “Bloom where God plants you”.
This year the orchids are prolific. 
I love the detail of these delicate orchids that seem to bloom in harsh conditions, with attitude! If this is not a diva presence, I’m not sure what is!
And who can walk past the beautiful banksia and not stop to marvel at this wonderful plant. I love the symmetry of the prickly leaves too.
There are tassle plants growing everywhere and after uploading the photograph, I can see the details, hidden to the naked eye. I’ve come to learn through photography, beauty is often sensed and not always seen, until later.
These are mallee and gum trees. The mallee is like a gangly teenager, with out of proportion limbs and leaves. Or, so I thought. 
When I stood under it, I had to ask myself, how did I miss this before?
Yes spring is here. The turnip weed flowers are everywhere alongside roads and highways. The soft canola, is painted across the landscape in broad strokes of vivid yellow.
A Shared Space 
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