Is it really August?
The last month of winter in the Southern Hemisphere arrived with torrential rain, hail, high winds and even rare snow flurries in some parts of Western Australia.
Today, thunder rolled above my roof and lightning flashed bright across grey skies. From my kitchen window I watched the doves seek shelter under the jasmine bushes, and as I wrapped my arms around myself and sought the warmth of my skin, I felt as cold as they looked.
After a whirlwind of back to back trips since October last year, I’m finally home for ten days, so I do admit, despite the bleak skies and cold, I’m enjoying being held captive at home by the rain.
I was in the Goldfields a couple of weeks ago. I have never experienced cold like I did during the trip but there were definitely some beautiful moments.
Sunrise, Kalgoorlie, Western Australia
Sunrise from my hotel room is always glorious. There’s gold in those ranges with the Super Pit gold mine just under those skies in the distance.
Rainbow in Kalgoorlie
Double rainbows were the norm most days and a treat to observe. I believe rainbows are the dolphins of the sky. It is impossible not to feel joy when you see one rise and arc across the horizon.
Back Beach, Bunbury, Western Australia
As the seasons change, so are my priorities.
I am slowly winding back my business and keeping only that which brings me joy. It is a guilty regret when I have reflected seasons have come and gone in the past 12 months and I have barely had time to pick up my camera. I had nearly forgotten what joy photography brings into my life.
Until the other day when I was rushing out of the rain and stopped in my tracks.
Despite high winds, in a recently pruned barren garden, a tiny rose leaf lay still, cradling even tinier jewel-like raindrops.
As I battle my way through this brutal winter, I close my eyes during bumpy flights, and count down the days to spring.
Until next time
As always
a dawn bird
Pelicans capture my heart as much as sea gulls. Large and ungainly, I love how pelicans descend on water, with the grace of a perfect flight landing.
The talk of the day among locals was how high the river had risen every time they checked their phone either in the office or cafe. A colleague suggested driving out to Nine Mile Bridge where there was a small lookout over the River, so I went with someone familiar with the area at the end of the day. Their excitement was contagious, but we looked on in awe for different reasons. 
My excitement was embedded in the fact this water was the rains that came from a cyclone further north. Muddy red, it carried the heart of the Pilbara mining region, a link that generated a visceral response. With the Gascoyne River being the longest river in Western Australia (nearly 900 kms or 500 plus miles) from Ranges to the sea, it is a spectacular sight to see in motion, the power of it made me step back and away from it.
The night before we drove out to a cattle station I could not sleep with excitement, and like an unsettled infant, woke every two hours. The instructions we were given were literally the proverbial ‘mud map’. There was no phone coverage either for the last part of our journey. My colleague brought her esky and we filled it with sandwiches, fruit and lots of water. We wore casual clothing and sturdy shoes. We grinned at the road ahead and left town early morning all set for an adventure on roads neither of us had travelled before. Just as well we took food, the station was expecting floods and everything was placed on higher ground. 
The road we turned off from the major highway was signposted. The ink ran dry from there on. We saw some petrol tins on wooden stakes, no doubt, meaningful to someone but for us it left more questions than answers. Every few kms we hoped we were on the right track, and track it was, unsealed and deeply corrugated as rain had come through the area but not yet reached Carnarvon. The last 20 kms was an especially bone-crunching drive as we bounced in the cabin, our voices becoming high pitched or subdued, every time a jolt took us by surprise. 
The family was expecting us and told us if we did not show up at the homestead within the designated time frame they would come out to look for us. I wasn’t sure if I felt reassured by this! We were, in Australian vernacular, beyond the black stump. We did see some cattle along the way. It is mustering season so we were somewhat reassured, although we could not see anyone or hear any mustering choppers, there were people around some where in this vast landscape. No landmarks to guide us but the straight track, we reasoned, it had to lead to the cattle station and it did. Eventually.
The homestead was a lovely period building, brick, fibro and tin but being a private home, I did not take photographs. The high ceilings kept the temperature cool indoors and the rooms were dark. We could not see what we were doing so we sat on the verandah under a tin roof for several hours. It was hot and beads of perspiration slid down the length of my spine. I could not help noticing there were several shovels scattered around the verandah. With no garden in sight, the owner confirmed, they were kept handy and within reach, for killing snakes! If nothing else convinced us, this did. We were in the outback.
It is difficult to put into words what the outback feels like. It is harsh and unforgiving country. Yet it is brimming with life of what one can see and it feels like one can experience the unseen. There is a spiritual ambience to it. It floats among twisted trees, swirling waters and skims sandy banks, with a softness that is tangible. This is ancient country. It envelopes one if you let it. It is not a landscape one sees. It is a landscape, a country, one experiences. It is now part of me as I am of it.
Later that evening, back in Carnarvon, we walked to the local pub so we could have a drink or two with our meal to celebrate our adventure. Sunset looked promising.
We walked back to the hotel along the Fascine after dark, where the sunset a couple of hours earlier had been beautiful. I slept fitfully from exhaustion and excitement.
At the end of the main street that has no more than ten shops I think, is the pub (on the right).
The Drovers’ Inn, circa 1909, is something out of a movie set. I learnt the hard way. To buy a drink, avoid the bar when it is shearing season! The Bottle Shop entrance on the right with the discreet blue sign is a better bet! The meals here are amazing.
A Shared Space 
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