I have just returned from beautiful Balingup, in the south-west of Western Australia. A tiny hamlet of less than 300 people. The weather was gorgeous. Sunny days. Zero degrees at night. I rented a rammed earth cottage for three nights and used it as my base while I worked in nearby towns. The self-contained cottage had all the comforts. There were Belgian chocolates galore in every nook and cranny. They all called my name! A bottle of Cab Sav. Freshly baked bread. A basket of breakfast goodies. I could not have asked for more.
I arrived at dusk. I’ve stayed here before and drove in carefully on an unsealed road in darkness. The owner lit a roaring fire for me. He promised to leave the newspaper at the door early morning. When did I last touch a newspaper! After dinner I climbed into bed, snug with an alpaca rug and awaited dawn. I smiled in the dark as possums scratched the window. 
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.
Perhaps, it’s my vintage. I’m mellowing with age. Life is now defined by lifestyle. I yearn for nothing else but more of the same.
This is how I would like my children to remember me.
Until next time
As always
a dawn bird
A Shared Space 
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