I tried to leave home before the storm hit. The weather bureau predicted it was severe and one of two such storms in a given year. The message was simple. “Batten down!” For once, the prediction was correct. The rain, a deluge, forced me off the road and forced me to seek shelter at a petrol station off the highway, as did the 100 km/hour high winds. I got to Bunbury just before it got too dark.
This sunset at Back Beach in Bunbury, did, however, salvage the day for me. It was cold. It was wild. It was magnificent.
The storm passed over night. The next day I went to Big Swamp after work. There seemed to be more swamp hens than I’ve ever seen before. I love them! Usually shy, this one was bold and sounded a raucous warning of my presence.
The path to the water is decked with winter colours.
The purple pea flower was prolific winding over shrubs and trees.
I’m not sure what this plant is called but it is unusual. Flowers grow on stalks that are on both sides of the leaf.
I returned home with the knowledge, it is spring next month. Until then, one can only hope, rain means more wildflowers this year. My work will be taking me to them. I can’t wait!
Until next time
As always
a dawn bird
I watched the sun rise beyond my favourite seat on the Bay. 
As day broke, I noticed the few days of storm surge had muddied the Bay, but did not steal the beauty. 
Although I love this sculpture, I’m always disappointed, someone did not have the foresight to position this in a better place. No matter which way you photograph it, there is always something that should not be in the background. Beauty, misplaced.
But not at Woody Lake. I found a wild clematis (I think) vine starting its journey across shrubs. Yes, spring!
And among the grass, scores of tiny yellow rumped thornbill, too quick, except for one.
A musk duck trying to look cool while expelling a blast of bubbles when attempting to attract a mate!
Perth Airport, just before I flew out the other day. 
I’ve come to know the Midwest is gorgeous in winter. This hill is on approach to Geraldton.
If you wake early enough, you’ll find frost on desert flowers in the mining region.
And when I return home, it’s time to stop and smell the roses.
I found a cluster of bell-like gum nuts at my feet. Although they will not bloom like other similar blossoms, their beauty is more accessible, close up. This is how it is meant to be, for some.
I look for solitary things in nature. Things that should belong together, but somehow fall away. Their beauty is undiminished, in isolation. For some, it takes effort to believe in this but when they do, the rewards are endless.
I prefer not to touch an object before I photograph it. I feel I need to respect the space where the object has come to rest. It was there for a reason. Things happen for a reason. It is something I’ve come to respect about life, too.
During this walk, I followed a trail of clover. It was a delicate wreath that wound itself around a massive rock. The dichotomy of strength and fragility, written in simple lines. And, yes, they can co-exist, each not detracting beauty from the other.
I know now, even green leaves fall away and come to rest until they disintegrate in the wind. This is their journey, not mine. The moment shared was finite. So is life.
Some are plain, beige, but sparkle best, when it rains. I’ve come to learn some people rise to their adversity, and can land softly, among rocks.
Some fade with a kaleidoscope explosion of colour. The message is clear. I was here once.
While others, are golden, among green. They signal season. A time for everything, and everything, in time.
Sunrise, Esperance Bay, Western Australia
Sunset, The Fascine, Carnarvon, Western Australia
Full moon, Wheatbelt, Western Australia
A cloud of little corellas, home, Western Australia
I woke this morning in cold and frosty Narrogin. It was a challenge to get out of bed but I could not help but feel so blessed.
The sunrise was magnificent over the township. Snuggled deep under covers, I felt I was the only one watching the sun emerge.
I stayed warm in bed, until past sunrise. I knew it was too cold, even for birds.
I then set off to Foxes Lair, took a deep breath while taking off my sunglasses and settled down to the big experience of the ‘here and now’.
I was there with the usual early morning company.
It was interesting to see the change of seasons reflected in nature. The bush is just starting to burst into colour, with striking fronds of flowers.
A little pink, too, here and there.
And, tiny flowers of ground cover.
The dryandra, beautiful but prickly, everywhere.
The honey eaters love this plant. Bees, too, but they were not buzzing today. Perhaps, too cold this morning for them.
The kookaburra emerged from a hole in the tree. It started to chortle. It sounded like a kettle coming up to the boil, before it reached the crescendo that is so typical of its call.
And when it stopped, it looked straight down at me!
The mulberry tree is stripped bare of leaves.
There’s a soft and squelching carpet underfoot.
I sneaked in a quick picture of a nest when there were no birds around. 
I came around the home to the side garden where the geraniums always bloom. Their vivid colour in winter is an obvious delight.
In the front garden, the roses defy winter, having found intermittent warmth during autumn. They are putting up a showy display before pruning.
This bloom is as big as an infant’s face. The perfume is exquisite.
I love this rose that starts to bloom with the faintest tinge of pink.
There is just one pink rose on the front arbor.
With a promise of another, yet to bloom.
I went for a quick walk and when I returned to the property, something fell from the tree in front of me.
A pair of white breasted robins. 
One was friendly and stayed with me. Or perhaps, I was following.
The delight of company!
Both equally curious about the other.
My hands shook with delight so I tried hard to relax, so did the robin.
It hopped and flew all around me.
The other hid behind pots but managed one shy look, and retreated again.
The cottage balcony faced forest. This was the view I woke to each day. The sun streamed in through mist. Kookaburras laughed and chortled. A smile travelled across my face, from ear to ear, and warmed me on the inside.
Each morning I rugged up warm and headed out to explore with a grateful heart that delighted in all that I saw.
The pink camellias took my breath away. Large as a man’s palm.
Then there were double camellias. The owner had left several in the cottage for me. Gorgeous!
I loved the white flowers, just as much.
The sunny jonquils bloomed despite the frost.
The white ones shimmered, too.
A clump of these, added colour.
Everywhere I looked, there was beautiful, delicate wattle, signalling winter.
I walked along country roads. Contented. At peace. Empowered. I have choice. This realisation, is freedom.
The wedgetail eagles were everywhere. This was a juvenile. The adult wing tip span can be up to 9 ft across. They are magnificent in flight.
I left the grey and wet of winter in Perth, to winter in the outback. Warm 18 degrees celsius by day and a brrrr 2 degrees at night. The hospitality at one hotel was interesting. “Dinner is from 6-7 pm. Come early so we can go home early!” was a no-fuss welcome. Despite this, the dinner was delicious. 
In the silence, the oneness with nature, was an embrace like no other. 
We enjoyed the huge vistas. We explored and wandered over rocks and gullies. We stumbled upon a field of white quartz. It looked like water had gone through this part with some force. It was stunning.
A fuzzy mauve stain in the red dirt caught my eye from across the road. I walked up to it and found the most exquisite, tiny flowers growing in the harshest country.
Those who know me, know I love the philosophy of Marie Kondo, the Japanese declutter queen. She says, “People cannot change their tidying habits without changing their thinking”. This is true. Change can be achieved, mindfully. It fits in with three simple words that guide me: “Think. Do. Be”. There is no wisdom here. Just the principles that guide the complex science of behaviour modification.
The results speak for themselves!
I’ve criss-crossed the Wheatbelt, a region of some 155,000 sq km. I’ve been further north east and further east of east, than before. The resilience of folks in farming communities is something that strikes me each time I visit. It must be difficult under circumstances where the pastures are green with rain and then 50 kilometres down the down, they are still waiting for it. People think in terms of community. What can they do, to make a difference. They are quick to minimize the role they play, often with a matter of fact, “Well! that’s what one does!”
Then there was the Kimberley region. Beautiful Kimberley, an area that covers some 422,000 sq km of ruggedness. Broome, is a favourite town but there’s a special place in my heart for Kununurra, a place I want to visit again on holiday. I’ve experienced joy in this town in the company of birds and the excitement of spotting my first freshwater crocodile. There are gorges and ruggedness to explore, and when standing still, blue dragonflies to observe.
I’ve visited the Midwest more frequently than I have ever done in previous years. It is larger area than the Kimberley at 472,000 plus square kilometers. The stunning landscape of the Coral Coast is memorable.
The mining region of the Pilbara, in the heart of Western Australia cover over 500,000 square kilometers. It is harsh, hot, and humbling country. Oh! how I love that red dust! Driving across it in summer was a highlight for me.
And who can forget the South West, nearly 24,000 sq km of beautiful food, wine, trails, forests and coastline.
Last but not least, the Goldfields Esperance region, covers over 770,000 sq km. Esperance is where I spend three consecutive nights each month, so naturally, it is my home away from home.
Curiosity
A Shared Space 
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