Tracy (Reflections of an Untidy Mind) has thrown down a challenge, so I’m putting out my ‘tweet’ as well to see if you can identify this bird!
I once saw one in the wild. No, I tell a lie. It was on the tree right in front of me. My companion saw it and tried to explain where it was. After a good half an hour, I pretended like I saw it. (A moment similar to the one where Rachel in Friends pretends she can see her baby in the sonagram!). I was too embarrassed to tell him, I. JUST. COULD. NOT. SEE. IT. (And, I was the one with the zoom!).
I often look at this picture and see perfection. Tell me if you see it too!
Until next time
As always
a dawn bird
At the base of the massive boab tree was the tiny chick she so desperately tried to protect. If you look closely you can barely see it at the juncture of the base and the longest root that extends from it (to the left of the screen).
So young, it still had feathers on the crown and eyes that were barely open. In a park where dogs and children played with careless abandon, the vulnerability of the chick, fired my up protective instinct too.
The chick relaxed and stared at me with curiosity.
The mother did the same, no longer flapping her wings furiously. She flew away time and again, returning with a morsel each time. She fed her chick with utmost patience.
I stood guard until the park was nearly empty. The protective instinct of the mother was memorable. No longer anxious, the mother and chick relaxed into their respective roles of nurturer and one being nurtured. The impact of trauma on a developing brain is well documented, especially for learning, emotional regulation and attachment issues. It came together for me in one fleeting moment.
The gull stood still and watched the tide come in. From the road above, I did the same.
Then the gull then strode out purposefully to meet it.
It seemed to know where to stop. 
It stood still and waited.
The tide came in with bounty. The Pacific Gull knew this. This was time honoured instinct. Honed and practiced. No technology to guide it. It was a beautiful thing to observe. A moment of mind-body connection, for gull, and me.
This is Esperance Bay at first light. The winter sun rises further left in the Eastern sky. It spreads the softest light, before it rises. Some people do this in life too.
My favourite spot to have my first coffee of the day is the end of the groyne. Sometimes the dolphins visit to keep company. 
I then head to West Beach to catch the glow of sunrise in the softest pinks, blues and greys.
If I meet my target for the day, I know I’ll find these folks too. Nothing keeps them from catching a set, except maybe a shark warning. Yes, maybe.
Surfers seem to sense the potential in an opportunity and go for it even if it is a short ride. They may not know this or see it as such, but each decision they make is a goal. Enjoy the ride.
And Woody Lake is where I sit and consolidate my day. The solitude gives me vantage point. It is where everything comes together in a moment of quiet. My vision, enhanced with clarity.
In my garden a lone purple rose is blooming. The bees are having a pollen spa. They are fascinating to watch.
In the backyard the rainbow lorikeet added colour to any otherwise ordinary day.
I’m dreaming of far away places, like Broome. Time to go there.
But for now, I’m off to Esperance again. It promises to be cold, wet and windy. But always beautiful, even if the only light is an (unknown) berry in the garden, that glows.
Roadside in Balingup where wild freesias grow.
Then there’s Donnybrook. Known for apples and orchards. I have to spend a few days here and so looking forward to it.
On the way to Margaret River, our premier wine country, I’m looking forward to a walk along Geographe Bay. I’ve walked the 1.8 km Busselton Jetty and this time, weather permitting, visiting the underwater viewing area is on my list.
I always love Margaret River in winter. A chalet, good cheese, a good red, blanket and book fireside, and I’m happy. Of course, there’s also the added attraction of tiny wrens!
I’m hoping to find some time to walk in the Perth Hills. I’m not sure what’s blooming at this time of year. I’m never home to find out! This picture and the next were taken in spring.
I know the coming weeks will bring moments of sheer joy.
I watched sunrise from bed. The sun appeared, a bleary eye, and then disappeared, like the town beneath it in the distance. Oh! well! I better pack and try and head off home cautiously, I thought. I did just that.
I got out of my car to all that I wanted in that moment.
I found colour and life.
Refreshed by rain, the greens and greys of the bush were vivid. I was greedy and gulped the pristine air.
On prostrate scrub there were splashes of white, pale pink and peach.
At the cusp of winter, a hint of spring.
It’s difficult to see but this track sparkled like a carpet of a million diamonds. I’ve never seen anything quite like it!
I took it all in. What falls away, makes it autumn. Then comes spring. So in life, too.
Deep in thought I was startled by a rustle behind me. I turned around and caught this mother kangaroo in mid hop.
She led her joey to feeding. I was transfixed.
The joey was curious about me.
Oh! those eyes and beautiful velvet ears!
The red breasted robin hopped around me, then perched on a branch for a perfect picture.
While Mrs red breasted robin watched his vanity.
Just outside Geraldton, Western Australia is Greenough, famous for historic buildings and the iconic Leaning Tree.
The snowdrops in my garden first appear in August. The anniversary of my father’s passing. Far from saddening me, the flower, like memories of him, delights the heart.
My father was my David Attenborough. He showed me the wonders of the world in words and books. Through his eyes I see softness in ranges and know Nature’s hand can shape and smooth the most difficult terrain.
Jostled in the air, I have learnt to focus on the sun ray bursting through a storm.
I know no fear travelling in desolate outback. I’ve come to learn, there is beauty in the barren. There is peace in void.
My steps are measured and mindful because I know there’s more to experience in the journey between A to Z.
The humble ground cover roadside in Bunbury that glowed like a star.
The beauty of water lilies in a billabong in the Kimberley. I will return.
The solitude of sunrise at Esperance Bay.
I found this banksia in Esperance when I went for a walk one evening. It was getting dark so I did not take my camera. I was deep in thought trying to process an eventful day. Then I saw it, candle like, low in the scrub. I kept walking but somehow felt drawn to it. Unusual because they bloom everywhere. Compelled, I returned to it. I leaned into it with my phone.
My eyes lit up. I saw perfection.
I turned off my air con and coughed my way through the next 160 km. When I arrived I could barely speak, my mouth and teeth gritty with dust. The next day I headed further north east. I had another two hours of driving.
I could see the dark clouds build up on the horizon. I tried to beat the rain. It arrived before I could step it up. The rain was like a powerful waterfall. The wipers could not keep up. The road started to flood in places and my car bounced off sheets of water. I could not see a suitable place to stop and park. I was doing between 50-70 km/hour in a 110 km/hr zone. The stress of someone coming up behind me and not seeing me in time was ever present. The only thing I could do was hold my nerve and pray, “keep me safe”. 
I got to a tiny hamlet called Latham when the sun broke through and it felt like I was on another planet. The birds came out tweeting. The wedge tailed eagle. Pink Galahs. Tiny honeyeaters. And, I even saw a Maleefowl saunter back into the bush. The difference in the weather was unbelievable.
Another day of criss crossing towns and then I was finally on my journey home. This time I indulged in a little rubber necking. There was no one else on the road for one stretch of 51 kms, so I stopped and took this picture. One of the most meditative drives I’ve had in a while.
There’s nothing like a sunset across the water here. I caught a brief glimpse, just a memory of what I know to be here.
The colours then muted down as it darkened.
Then there was night sky.
As the light faded I found a wader perched on a rock, like me, watching the schools of fish, some that jump out of the water with a splash. River mullet, I’m told. I’ve seen them dance upright across the surface of the water, flapping madly.
The fish were too quick and perhaps, the school too big, so the wader had to be content among the molluscs. It was as still and silent, as me.
One last pic before nightfall, and I’m happy, satiated even, with the few moments I had with my camera.
On the road beside me were several inland thornbill, given their size, they are also affectionately known as ‘button bums’. Had I not been forced to slow down, I would have missed this beautiful moment of shared joy.
The rain had left a puddle in the middle of the road. The birds were thoroughly enjoying a communal bath, undeterred by my presence.
Some immersed themselves fully and then shook themselves fluffy. 
Others walked away from the puddle with confidence and returned. Dip, fluff, repeat.
There was one that tried not to get wet and stretched tiny legs to stay upright.
The result was inevitable!
While another took a break and found me the curiosity. And, that was just fine with me!
The view from my hotel bed is always spectacular. As soon as it was light enough I scrambled out of bed, bed hair tucked under beanie and headed to the Lair.
The fog hung low as I walked alone, taking in every sensory experience. The crunch of my footsteps, gum nuts showering around me (courtesy of the parrots), the birdsong, the honking of the Australian shelducks that chased each other above the trees, the smell of gum trees. 
There were boughs of delicate golden wattle, breaking up the grey green of winter that’s only weeks away.
Lichen painted limbs strewn carelessly.
While other limbs were decorated with frills.
The occasional splash of colour at my feet.
Then the parrot caught my eye. It was probably watching me long before I saw it! It was silent and blended in beautifully with foliage.
Soon followed by a shower of red robins that descended on the trees and shrubs around me. Curious about my presence, they were gorgeous!
As I was leaving I met a local who knows the reserve well. He told me he found a bunny orchid the day before, so I followed him like a child.
The bunny orchids on the stem were tiny. Each flower the size of a child’s pinky nail. Exquisite! My delight was so obvious, he left me alone with them!
A Shared Space 
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