The task for the week was a simple one but proved really difficult for me. There were no rules. Writers were given license to tell lies, break rules, make up words. They were asked to create in the moment. Instant writer’s block! So the facilitator gave us the opening line … “I leave this by your ear for when you wake …”. Using my senses, immediately centred me.
I sat with my fellow companions in silence while we took the words in, then stepped away for a few moments, at one with all around me. Far away in the outback, I wrote a poem for my children, the opening lines ….
“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.
A mindful moment.
And, in that moment, I see the billabong again. The lily pads.
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.
Yes, I’m home.
‘Billabonging’ to the sights and sounds of the Kimberley.
Until next time
As always
a dawn bird
Silvereye are tiny birds. They weigh around 10 grams. To find one feeding, oh! the joy!
I parked my car and walked to them. Soon the flock relaxed in my company. Some sitting on bare branches. This little one, still holding an insect.
One allowed me to inch closer. The puddle, just across from it, proving irresistible.
On the ground, they bunny hop. I caught this one mid-hop.
I’m pretty sure the look of surprise on my face, was just as comical.
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.
Calm.
Focused.
Joyful.
Photobombers!
Indifferent.
Brave.
Breathtaking!
He steadied himself, then walked down the stairs. His dreadlocks streaming behind him, like kelp.
He faced the ocean. This, Poseidon.
They are almost always in a flock or at least a pair or two. I’ve watched them for hours and have never observed conflict. They seem to know, there is plenty of food for all.
They go about their life, without a backward glance at raptors. They live mindfully, in the here and now.
They are curious about the new.
Stop long enough to look at the world around them.
They are relaxed, and focused, when they observe.
And, yes, these energetic, beautiful little birds do take time to rest.
The sun was fading fast. The wind strong. My eyesight weak. But like him, I set up, waiting for success.
He leaned right back, now almost lying down. He had done this before. The gouges in the sand, his history.
The wind lifted him. Airborne!
But only for a nanosecond. He came down with a thump. His legs flailing before impact.
The wind was not in his favour. But, he did it all over again, and again, and again.
A Shared Space 
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