Why live in winter
in that desolate space
where alone in a landscape
is a crowd
where the wind bites
and leaves no scars
where water no longer gurgles
with delight at your touch
but lies frozen and stagnant
while you wait for spring
for the thaw
that may never come.
a dawn bird
While studying at uni, the pressures on me were crushing and having to raise children within a tight budget, the only affordable release I had was to go for a walk. I did this three times a day, totalling 12 kms (approximately 7.5 miles) every day. I walked fast as if it would distance me from all that overwhelmed me on the day. I was slender as a reed.
Now my steps are more measured. And, despite the frenetic pace of professional life, my personal life, is measured too. I touch base with me when I walk. It is meditative. I am whole. It renews me. My pace is slow. Of course the down side is, I am no longer slender as a reed!
I’ve been in Esperance for the last few days and returned home this afternoon. It was cloudy but warm and balmy and quite unusual for that town. As is my routine, I woke early this morning and headed out to the Bay and my other favourite spots. I love to walk here in the mornings.
The Whale Tail is iconic. I’d love to rip up every other structure within sight so the beauty of this sculpture can be fully appreciated.
Before dawn, the colours across the Bay were beautiful in pale blues and greys. This is a town where I feel so safe and secure. It is my soft place to land each month.
I walked around Windabout Lake where the pelicans cruised like ocean liners.
Across the board walk, the bankia cones were everywhere.
And just when I thought I was alone!
A joey. Look at those eyes!
I’ve come to realise when I go for a walk each day, there is so much about me I leave behind intentionally. I know a walk in nature, is where I find the authentic me.
Until next time
As always
a dawn bird
The Robyn Gordon blooms all year
just outside the door
as beauty often does
and with each breath I take
I fill that lingular space
where you once were.
a dawn bird
It was summer twenty four hours ago
my skin is still burnished brown
the dawn sun ignites a signal lamp
and spells in code,
slow down.
My girth is too wide for embrace
but where my wisdom is kept
I am matriarch
alive among sapling and dead wood
I am old, as I am young again
Come closer, yes, closer
lean in
hear my autumn song.
a dawn bird
(In response to the RDP word, diametric)
Nature speaks a language
in seasons, and
much like love
what falls away, renews
so from the shards of summer
a fire in my heart has been lit
to keep you warm in autumn.
a dawn bird
Your memory no longer lives within me
the air I breathe is no longer shared,
giving life to the walking dead with each breath
our journey ended, when mine began
Reborn, I woke one day
taking my first breath among trees
and holding me close to her bosom
Mother Nature smiled indulgently
The air I breathe now,
is sweeter than early morning
when I wake to birdsong, my silence
and find diamonds in the garden,
the ones you never had a chance to give me.
a dawn bird
This post comes with a warning. There are a lot of photographs to scroll. I’m enjoying a moment of indulgence. Why haven’t I seen these before?
I’m an amateur at photography. I don’t have a clue about what I’m doing so it was a delight playing with light. I love the glowing crown on this little silvereye.
Can a duck have too many colours? I’ve seen these ducks so often but never really noticed this.
I love these pink gum flowers. It’s a pink I would not dare to wear. (Having said that, maybe I will, one day).
I love camelias. I once met a family at a conference who had twin young adult sons. One completing honours at university, the other either homeless or in and out of psychiatric facilities with schizophrenia. I planted two camelia bushes in my garden. One for each of them. One flourished. The other did not, but did not die. I never knew, which was which. I still think of the young men.
One of my favourite flowers is the Geraldton Wax. They have been planted along the freeway to reduce sound. The shrub grows high and wide. In spring, they are covered in flowers and make a beautiful vase of cut flowers. I’m planning to have one or two of them in my garden. I especially love the white flowers.
It was winter in Margaret River when I rugged up and went for a bush walk. This caught my eye in the garden as I headed out. I had never seen a fig growing on a tree before. Luscious little thing!
I recall this flower was tiny. It took ages to get this pic. Worth it, I think.
These snowdrops bloom in August at my front door. Why don’t they all droop, head down while others perk up to light? Perhaps they are a reminder, hold on, spring is next.
I’ve grown to be curious about lichen. I love the ‘colonies’ that coat limbs. In nature, life goes on. There is no death. Or perhaps, there’s life, in another form.
Without a security blanket, I think I’ll take that thought to bed.
Until next time
As always
a dawn bird
A
I slid my finger down the glass
the tangibility of frost, mesmerised me
I held the icy orb to my neck
found the pulse, like your kisses once did
I sat stilled, lost in memory
and the taste of you
The night was young,
I was alone
so I ordered another margarita,
for two.
a dawn bird
In an open field
you spin sparkle
a diaphanous snare
of angles and lines
laid down with gridiron precision
in your playground
where no one wins the game.
a dawn bird
Finding balance in a busy world, is an art. And like art, highly subjective. What works for one, does not work for the other. It all comes down to knowing the what, when and where for oneself.
I get to visit some beautiful places for work and sometimes, holiday. The coastal towns of Broome, Exmouth and Esperance come to mind immediately. But even in these tourist towns, I seek solitude in the crowd. I find a quiet spot away from the people and that’s not hard to do on Cable Beach with 22 km of beach. Esperance is my second home. I know exactly where I’m happiest in this small town. I also know in Exmouth, I’m happiest near the ocean at sunrise and sunset or delighting in smooth pebbles or shells.
But away from the big name places, I look for the ordinary things. Looking at them differently generates a mind shift for me. I’m never sure what I am photographing. I just instinctively feel the need to take a picture and then months, or years later, see something special in that moment.
I’ll share some of those moments with you.
On the banks of the Fitzroy River in Willare (Kimberley region) I found these leaves along the banks. The wind had created this perfect formation. They were tightly wedged in.
At home the bees in the front garden love the roses. I love the tiger stripes and colours.
I have become addicted to the crunch of my boots in the silence of the bush. Sometimes I stop and check what’s at my feet. Often I find perfection.
I always seem to find heart shaped rocks on the beach. I now find heart shaped leaves in the bush. The universe is speaking and so I stop and listen, ear to the ground.
I love photographing surfers. They are passionate and fearless. I learn from them, it’s okay to be the same.
Surfers find balance, in balance. A hard act to follow. I’m fine tuning that.
Photography has been my lifeline. I need a few minutes every day with my camera. And, in a crazy world, that’s how I steady myself.
Until next time
As always
a dawn bird
The note said, “I’m leaving”
destination, unknown
bags packed and neatly stored
by the front door
I remember the moment well
unafraid, you stepped into the night
and the world trembled as you walked.
I was silenced by your instinct
turned my back on your gamble
after all, what dialect does one use
to reason with this foolish wager
I had too much to lose to watch you win
I stepped aside, always an adult, never a player.
in this game of chance called life.
But truth be told,
I was in awe of your audacity
I followed the footprints you left in my heart
biding my time
until now
I have the courage of a gambler
the curiosity of an explorer
I am a linguist,
I can speak the unspoken now
I can stare you down
or so I thought.
Last night I took my place
as you threw the dice
our eyes met, fortune flipped
your gaze softened
as I scooped the winnings
unaware you let me win
to become the woman I am now
a dawn bird
It’s been a crazy week. Very hot temperatures last weekend followed by a winter storm. The rain was not as heavy as predicted but the winds were strong. I walked around the garden looking for Brave Willie but he was nowhere to be found. I fretted he may have been blown further away in strong winds. Although he was silent, too silent for a Willy Wagtail, his tiny presence was larger than life in the space we shared.
Then yesterday a bush fire flared up not far from home. The area where I live has a lot of gum trees. A fire in the distance makes everyone scan the horizon nervously. So naturally, I didn’t sleep too well last night. This morning I was woken by helicopters flying overheard, so low you could hear the whoop of the rotor blades. No doubt they were scooping water from the lake. I went to the back and could see nothing, nor was there smoke visible in the front of the home. It was early and with no drama in sight, I thought I may as well start working. I wrote reports for over an hour, deep in thought when I heard something. My fingers froze. My senses alert. There it was, the unmistakably fluting sweet call of a Willy Wagtail. I knew it was him! How did I know? Well, it was slightly off key! But he tried again and again and between attempts, he got it right. Seated on a high branch (yes, now confident in his flying skills), he was chirping away.
I went outdoors with my camera, I got him in the frame, focused and memory card was full! Arrgh! I left him and went indoors for my phone. He was still tweeting his little heart out when I returned. As the sun came up he lifted off into perfect flight . My heart soared with him.
I can remember the first time I flew in an a plane. In my mid teens I flew alone to Canada. I didn’t want to sleep on the long flight in case I missed something! In New York I went by helicopter from Kennedy Airport to La Guardia Airport. I’ll never forget my wide eyed wonder when I saw Empire State Building all lit up at night.
The little girl who sat on the doorstep and dreamed of flying across the world one day, was living her dream. Overwhelmed she just didn’t know it at the time.
With a flight scheduled next week, she does now.
Until next time, like a child, dream big.
As always
a dawn bird
Summer, in my frosted garden.
When in bloom, the jasmine rains steadily. The perfume is almost overwhelming. The bees and I can’t get enough of it.
I’ve grown to love this garden. The previous owner was a florist. She knew what to plant and where. I lost the honeysuckle vine in the storm, but glad the jasmine survived winter’s wrath.
I’m slowly adapting to this space. It is special for many reasons, but the most important one being, it is home to me.
Until next time
a dawn bird
Frequent travel is not for everyone. I know this for a fact in my profession. Colleagues would much prefer to sit in an office and see a stream of 6-7 people a day, like some friends I had lunch with recently. One jokingly asked if I’m running from something. Fair call. I recall watching a show about a business woman who was a victim of trauma and later became very successful. She gave motivational lectures everywhere. Although married, she liked the transient lifestyle. She had a reason to stay detached. I seem to do the same. I have acquaintances where ever I work. I meet folks for dinner here and there. When I want my own space, I have it, no questions asked or answered.
Why does a vagrant lifestyle suit me? If I were to examine it more closely I would say, it is because I love to travel and I love the work I do with people. It is as simple as that. It satisfies me on a spiritual level.
Then there’s the personal aspect to it. I love the freedom my lifestyle gives me. I don’t answer to anyone. I make my own plans for holidays when I want to. I don’t have to consider whether it suits someone else’s schedule or not. I spend my money the way I want to. Is this selfish? Or self-preservation? I really don’t know but what I do know is, although I have a home, I love being ‘homeless’ for most days of the month. If I had someone in my life, I’d sell everything, buy a caravan and travel, camping under the stars instead of living in hotels. That’s the only yearning I have. Perhaps, this will eventuate some day. Until then, Nellie Furtado’s song, “I’m like a bird …” loops in my head.
You don’t see too many homeless people in rural areas as one does in the city. There is one man in particular I’m always curious about. I love his spirit. Everyone knows him in town and yet no one seems to know everything about him. Being a visitor, I’ve gleaned information from here and there. I’ve given him a life story, one I have no idea if true or not. It soothes my romantic heart. I don’t see him being selfish. From what I gather, in a farming town, where everyone knows everyone else, he lives the way he does by choice. I’ve seen him in a grocery shop. Never too greedy, he only gets what he needs. He is also generous, whatever little he has, I’ve seen him share with birds.
I’ve written about him in another post. I hope you are as curious about him as I am.
I fly out next week and the cycle starts. I have a daunting schedule of travel in February. Be still, my restless heart!
Until next time
As always
a dawn bird
I’ve always believed faith is a gift you give yourself but hope is a gift others give you. And, there have been times I was more generous with my gift to self, than accepting a gift from others. Since then I’ve learned, having faith alone can be a closed door and just the opposite of what faith represents.
Hope has a sneaky way of entering one’s life. A gift received unexpectedly, without you knowing it is a gift. Soon you find, it is something you cannot live without. It came to me gift wrapped in brown paper. Innocuous. I opened it up. I’m glad I did. It seemed a good place to start and I found it in the wonderful philosophy of Marie Kondo, the queen of declutter who promotes ‘keep what brings you joy’. I took the declutter philosophy and adapted it to a lifestyle choice. It transformed the way I live. I now travel light. I live with joy.
My garden is a place of joy. Sometimes it is barren, sometimes not, but in all its states, it is like a friend. Always there. Non-judgemental. Forgiving. Offering surprises when I need them most.
Being time poor I’ve had the same gardener for over 16 years. He’s inextricably linked to my garden. He’s elderly and comes by just for a few $ of pub money. He enjoys pottering around comfortable in the space he creates. Like an adorned tree, his face lights up at Christmas when I give him a bottle of his favourite whiskey, and I look forward to his heartfelt thank you that accentuates his unmistakable Mancunian accent. An avid fan of English football, he likes to share his enthusiasm when his team plays. I give him more than a few minutes of my time because I know talking about his footy team, brings him joy. I might add, I know nothing about sport but manage to wing it with him!
There are some flowers I love. Pansies and violas are some of them. I love how they look hand painted and when they bloom I’m always nearby. Instead of being disappointed when they are past their prime, I look forward to their season again.
It’s raining this morning and cool, too cool. A tee shirt seems inadequate. I have to remind myself we are in the middle of summer. But the contrast between winter and summer spurned me to write and immerse myself into a moment that integrates past and present.
I recalled this morning a moment that stays vivid in memory. I had returned from one trip to a garden that was nearly barren. There were no favourite flowers to be found. I didn’t want the company of the vivid geraniums. Emotionally spent from a challenging trip, I wanted something more delicate to bounce off how I felt. From the corner of my eye I saw a pansy growing between rocks. If there was ever a message of hope, this was it. It brought together what I knew to be true in life. Along with faith, one has to have imperishable hope in one’s emotional tool kit.
A raindrop fell today
it found the driest place to land
and filtered down the earth
past pebbles, stones and sand
The raindrop searched for a single seed
in the dirt, dormant and dry
invisible, unseen
except to The Gardener's eye
The seed did not know the purpose
it lay passive in parched land
unquestioning why placed there
by The Gardener's steady hand.
The Gardener knew when the rain came
the season would be right
the raindrop would seek the seed
the one He buried in the night
The raindrop relentless in search
found the seed, the dormant one
it reached in reconciliation
and the seed, reached for the sun.
a dawn bird
A Shared Space 
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