January was to be a quiet month of settling into my home. But eight days down I have already made my first trip, this time to Geraldton, in the Midwest and have more visits to come. I had also planned to complete all reports pending from last year and ploughing my way through the mountain. I’ve been less productive than I hoped I would be. Perhaps, this is just the aftermath of holidays or the heat that’s slowing me down. As I lumber on, I thought I’d stop and reflect on the rewards that await me should I stay on task.
The feel of walking bare feet on sea debris.
Seeing my touchstone again on Cable Beach, before it is permanently part of the sea. (I’ve written about this rock platform in a previous post, titled Narratives).
Experiencing a moment when a tiny Lesser Sand Plover, stands like a mountain before me.
Standing below a red collared lorikeet in Kununurra wondering how did it get that shaggy look!
Looking into the glassy eyes of the Inland Thornbill.
Experiencing the delight at finding a button quail on the front lawn of a hotel, so tiny, I thought it was a mouse. The mother quail stayed a fraction longer, so I could take a picture of her beautiful feathered herringbone cloak.
Spending time with kingfishers, silent in trees above me.
And in the Midwest, where the only clouds are between wheat fields and sky.
Waking to find the colours of sunset at my doorstep, at dawn.
Spending time at the beach where I am 20 feet taller
and knowing my heart is whole again.
These joys await in the not too distant future, I know for sure. But for now, like the tiny Lesser Sand Plover I’ll ignore the waves of work and focus on just what’s before me. Work.
Until next time
As always
a dawn bird
This time the bird stayed on the twig, aloof.
The gaze, intent.
Ever watchful.
Within a week the behaviour changed. The bird became territorial.
Every time I went to the laundry line or patio. It would watch me from a distance.
It would display the tail, the distinctive fantail and chirp excitedly.
It found a high spot, a natural arbour made by the branches of the mulberry tree.
One day it pulled itself up to look bigger and then swooped me.
One morning, unable to go outdoors, I aimed the camera at the mulberry tree. That’s when I saw the nest the Willy Wagtail had been defending. I respected the need for protection and never got to photograph the chick/s. I did find an empty eggshell one day under the mulberry tree and was happy with that.
I’m planning more adventures.
And will travel winding roads with destination in mind.
I will spend time seaside in the company of seagulls.
I will seek wisdom in silence.
And enjoy working with purpose. Head down …. you know the drill.
I will learn a sunset is always perfect, and like life, never marred by the unexpected. 
And like waves, transiency is also beautiful.
I will take time to watch in awe …
The palette I am given each day.
I will look for the unexpected in whimsy, maybe even throw caution to the wind and let walls once built strong crumble, to let ‘Barry’ in!
“All our words are but crumbs that fall down from the feast of the mind” (Khalil Gibran)
A young boab tree, Roebuck Bay, Broome, Western Australia
Esperance Bay, Esperance, Western Australia
Young bee catcher, Parry Creek, Wyndham, Western Australia
Gum trees, South West, Western Australia
Purple enamel orchid, South West, Western Australia
I woke early one morning, a glorious morning. My hotel balcony overlooked Roebuck Bay in Broome. This is the moment I heard life speak to me, ‘Leave the ordinary behind’.
The tiny silvereye was young and bold, sitting exposed and facing the sun.
The Willy Wagtail chick was shiny as a new penny …
looking intently into the distance with wisdom in beady eyes.
The young crested pigeon was gorgeous with ruffled feathers.
What delighted me the most was the juvenile grey fantail.
This little one had the sweetest call, an overture that filled the canopy it sat underneath.
Then a moment of quiet, except for my heartbeat.
The young wattle bird found a perch here and there on banksia cones. The distinctive metallic call silenced, or perhaps not yet developed.
This is the first time I’ve seen a Western spinebill and try as I may, I could not get a better pic but I know I’ll be back next year for it.
I usually stay opposite the tree park. It is one of my favourite places to walk in the mornings. I stride across, purposefully, for the massive boab, the matriarch.
This time I found, like me, a butterfly needed a soft place to land.
High above, there were a few boab flowers coming into bloom. They are exquisite. Thick, creamy petals that fold over like heavy taffeta …
… the inside, emits the softest pearly light.
I wandered around for hours, the sense of oneness under these trees consolidated a promise to return.
Beyond the green is Lily Creek Lagoon where this tiny bird held me captive. 
On this morning, Mother Boab taught me, nothing says new life more eloquently, than a sprig of green on gnarly, old limbs. So here I am, typing my post, experiencing life differently.
I sat in the shadow of roses, their heads heavy with petalled beauty.
The cafe garden was a world apart from the Wheatbelt, where I sat roadside to eat a sandwich in the car and watch this quintessentially rural scene.
The flowers are almost gone. At least the obvious ones. The grass is less green and more blond by early summer warmth. Some trees have shed leaves. They reminded me of chocolate curls, so I trudged around planning my Christmas menu. It helped keep happy thoughts forefront.
I don’t recall seeing these large shrubs before. They were everywhere and pretty in pink. That’s what I find so amazing about being in the bush. What looks ordinary one season, is eye catching, the next.
There were tall grass tree spikes bursting in flower. They look ordinary from a distance, just tall and white. Close up, well, a star studded sabre, comes to mind.
These flowers grow on flannel grey shrubs. There are thousands of these flowers in bloom, or waiting to bloom. Ordinary? Not to my eye.
There were a few of these still fresh and blooming. They are exquisitely tiny. And yet, each puff is several flowers within a flower. I kept walking up to it and could see it up close but stepping away, lost it numerous times in the grass. Got to get that shot became a mantra! Photography has taught me patience and persistence. 
And some were still beautiful, well past their bloom. I had to tripod my legs to steady my hands that shook with the delight of each little flower. The fragility! And, tenacity!
I heard strange sounds above me. Sounds I haven’t heard before. They, more than likely, came from young parrots, hiding in tree hollows.
I bought coffee in town and headed back to the Lair. I saw a young kangaroo family, three in a mob. The male, impressive! He was almost as big as a deer.
His face veiled by cobwebs, his gorgeous ears, twitching, alert. We were eye to eye for a few minutes, each sizing the intent of the other.
There were no small birds at all, but seeing these flowers growing profusely, who can complain.
On the way home I spotted this in Crossman, growing just off the road among a grove of shady trees.
I stopped my car to take some pictures, forgetting this is Western Australia in spring. I was covered in bush flies within seconds! If you only knew what I went through for this pic!
My visit north will not be green. It will be encased in the fine red dust of the Kimberley.
I’m not scared of spiders at all, but I am of reptiles.
And (sensibly) scared of crocodiles.
Across the road from my hotel in Kununurra, my first stop, will be Celebrity Tree Park and Lily Creek Lagoon where I walk early morning, camera in hand. I love that this major highway is like a suburban side road.
There will be dragon flies with net wings teaching me to balance.
In groves of ancient boab trees, I’ll find a mother’s embrace, long overdue.
Despite the heat, I’m hoping there are lily filled billabongs, like ones I’ve seen before.
And migratory birds who are still calling the Kimberley home, before they fly.
The drive is on a lonely highway. The solitude in magnificent landscape, exhilarating.
We stopped for a few minutes rest to stretch our legs when in the far distance my zoom caught something on the horizon. So we drove towards it.
The memorial astonished us. It was huge. Did it start with just one stone? How did people know it was here?
And nearby a smaller, personalised memorial to loved ones, long passed.
As we left the area, in this desolate landscape a tree stood frozen. A silent reminder, it once danced in the breeze. So I take the cue.
I found the wildflowers were still blooming in the fields around the airport.
In a stiff breeze, the flowers rustled. It was music to my ears.
Gum blossoms.
I found a sculpture in Kulin, left behind after the last ‘Blazing Swan’ festival. The festival runs to a similar theme to The Burning Man. This was the swan’s egg. How did I not know about this festival! When I returned home, I looked at the website. It looks awesome!
In the Wheatbelt I also watched some birds, like me, work hard to create their nest.
The wildflower season was ending in Mingenew in the Midwest, and although past their prime, some were still sunny side up.
While in other places, there was harmonious diversity in all colours.
I came across details in tiny insects that the naked eye could not see.
I walked along the walking trail high above West Beach in Esperance where teenage surfers start their day and where I like to start mine. They stick together in a pod and have each other’s back. Earlier this year a Great White hung around for hours just 100 metres from shore. Although I watch them with a mother’s eye, I can’t help but admire their youthful dare.
I’ve come across extraordinary, in the ordinary. Reminders for me that any job is ordinary, but how we perceive what we do, takes it to another level.
I examined the wonderful weirdness of Nature closely and found I was wrong, there’s nothing weird about delicate intricacy.
The striking vividness of colour on shrubs stopped me in my tracks.
And also when I caught sight of an errant Running Postman on the ground.
Color in nature can be striking when plain.
Or subtle in varying hues.
There are also some attention seekers saying, ‘look at me’!
And just when I thought I was alone while bush walking, I realised, I had company.
A clump of cowslip orchids, found unexpectedly, in debris.
Manna acacia blooming below a canopy of gum trees.
A spider orchid, dancer like, posturing mid-furl.
An emu in the wild, caught mid-stride, long neck perfectly curled.
The tiny inland thorn bill with yolk egg feathers, singing for mate, in spring.
A Willy Wagtail, with bling in her wing.
Sunset in an autumn leaf.
Pink ballerina tutus in shrubs, just below the trees.
Ballgowns draped on shrubs, more beautiful than found on any red carpet.
A trio of pristine white cornettes.
A gift from and for the sea, left on shore by someone unknown. But it spoke to, and, for me.
The boot sits outside my study window. It reminds me life is fragile, and living in community makes one stronger. I take time to talk to strangers. They love to talk about their community, I’ve found. Like the old boot that no longer dances, but the story of its new life, can still make a heart sing. So I consciously and mindfully live life closer to the source and Source.
The clump of snowdrops at my doorstep has grown, having arrived three weeks later than they did last year. They seem to have survived another year of my old gardener’s enthusiasm for clearing flower beds and his failing eyesight!. I looked through dozens of flowers and found myself wanting to see what was under the hood. Now I know!
In the back garden the Cape Gooseberry is fruiting. I love this fruit and they hardly ever stay long enough on the bush without me picking off the lanterns while still green. I found this one on the ground, encased in gossamer, the detail, exquisite.
I know while bush walking, there are tiny flowers and foliage to search for and delight in. I also know some folks are intent on the walk itself, and miss what my eyes search for. I also know that’s their journey, not mine. So I let them walk by.
What I search for in bush country, are the tiny wild orchids that grow in impossible places. They remind me of a plaque I have in my study “Bloom where God plants you”.
This year the orchids are prolific. 
I love the detail of these delicate orchids that seem to bloom in harsh conditions, with attitude! If this is not a diva presence, I’m not sure what is!
And who can walk past the beautiful banksia and not stop to marvel at this wonderful plant. I love the symmetry of the prickly leaves too.
There are tassle plants growing everywhere and after uploading the photograph, I can see the details, hidden to the naked eye. I’ve come to learn through photography, beauty is often sensed and not always seen, until later.
These are mallee and gum trees. The mallee is like a gangly teenager, with out of proportion limbs and leaves. Or, so I thought. 
When I stood under it, I had to ask myself, how did I miss this before?
Yes spring is here. The turnip weed flowers are everywhere alongside roads and highways. The soft canola, is painted across the landscape in broad strokes of vivid yellow.
A Shared Space 
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