I’ve just returned from a much anticipated trip. I went to big country to look for small things. I needed the contrast and dichotomy for my body and soul.
I was thrilled to find the tides at Cable Beach, Broome had left generous amounts of shells and sea debris on the shore. I’ve visited the town at least a dozen times and found this phenomenon only twice so far. It is the tail end of winter in Perth, so Broome and the Kimberley region is tourist time for backpackers, ‘grey nomads’ travelling in caravans and the well heeled to get away from the cold. I belong to none of these groups.
I went because I want to live.
On a beach that stretches for 22 kms, I peered through tiny coral windows and found life in minutae is what has added zest to my journey.
I contemplated the fragility of life and the glue that holds it all together.
I reflected on the foundations and layers we create within us, between us and for each other. Do they support or divide?
I found things that spoke to me. Much like life, debris was once perfect and whole and …
still exquisitely beautiful.
We are given life. But … it is a finite serve.
I paused to reflect. What’s my footprint, my legacy, that I leave on shore?
The glory of sunset at Cable Beach is seductive. It is promoted as such and people come to catch their breath.
But I also know the young boab tree at Town Beach, the opposite side of town at Roebuck Bay, is magnificent at sunrise. So in Broome I catch my breath, at least twice a day.
I’ve returned home after an amazing trip. I have more to share with you, perhaps later today, but for now, I’ll leave you with a thought.
We may think we choose our journey. Not so. We are given a journey but we are also given choice. We choose how to travel it. So, travel well.
Until next time
As always
a dawn bird
I watched the sun rise beyond my favourite seat on the Bay. 
As day broke, I noticed the few days of storm surge had muddied the Bay, but did not steal the beauty. 
Although I love this sculpture, I’m always disappointed, someone did not have the foresight to position this in a better place. No matter which way you photograph it, there is always something that should not be in the background. Beauty, misplaced.
But not at Woody Lake. I found a wild clematis (I think) vine starting its journey across shrubs. Yes, spring!
And among the grass, scores of tiny yellow rumped thornbill, too quick, except for one.
I found a cluster of bell-like gum nuts at my feet. Although they will not bloom like other similar blossoms, their beauty is more accessible, close up. This is how it is meant to be, for some.
I look for solitary things in nature. Things that should belong together, but somehow fall away. Their beauty is undiminished, in isolation. For some, it takes effort to believe in this but when they do, the rewards are endless.
I prefer not to touch an object before I photograph it. I feel I need to respect the space where the object has come to rest. It was there for a reason. Things happen for a reason. It is something I’ve come to respect about life, too.
During this walk, I followed a trail of clover. It was a delicate wreath that wound itself around a massive rock. The dichotomy of strength and fragility, written in simple lines. And, yes, they can co-exist, each not detracting beauty from the other.
I know now, even green leaves fall away and come to rest until they disintegrate in the wind. This is their journey, not mine. The moment shared was finite. So is life.
Some are plain, beige, but sparkle best, when it rains. I’ve come to learn some people rise to their adversity, and can land softly, among rocks.
Some fade with a kaleidoscope explosion of colour. The message is clear. I was here once.
While others, are golden, among green. They signal season. A time for everything, and everything, in time.
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.
I’ve criss-crossed the Wheatbelt, a region of some 155,000 sq km. I’ve been further north east and further east of east, than before. The resilience of folks in farming communities is something that strikes me each time I visit. It must be difficult under circumstances where the pastures are green with rain and then 50 kilometres down the down, they are still waiting for it. People think in terms of community. What can they do, to make a difference. They are quick to minimize the role they play, often with a matter of fact, “Well! that’s what one does!”
Then there was the Kimberley region. Beautiful Kimberley, an area that covers some 422,000 sq km of ruggedness. Broome, is a favourite town but there’s a special place in my heart for Kununurra, a place I want to visit again on holiday. I’ve experienced joy in this town in the company of birds and the excitement of spotting my first freshwater crocodile. There are gorges and ruggedness to explore, and when standing still, blue dragonflies to observe.
I’ve visited the Midwest more frequently than I have ever done in previous years. It is larger area than the Kimberley at 472,000 plus square kilometers. The stunning landscape of the Coral Coast is memorable.
The mining region of the Pilbara, in the heart of Western Australia cover over 500,000 square kilometers. It is harsh, hot, and humbling country. Oh! how I love that red dust! Driving across it in summer was a highlight for me.
And who can forget the South West, nearly 24,000 sq km of beautiful food, wine, trails, forests and coastline.
Last but not least, the Goldfields Esperance region, covers over 770,000 sq km. Esperance is where I spend three consecutive nights each month, so naturally, it is my home away from home.
Roadside in Balingup where wild freesias grow.
Then there’s Donnybrook. Known for apples and orchards. I have to spend a few days here and so looking forward to it.
On the way to Margaret River, our premier wine country, I’m looking forward to a walk along Geographe Bay. I’ve walked the 1.8 km Busselton Jetty and this time, weather permitting, visiting the underwater viewing area is on my list.
I always love Margaret River in winter. A chalet, good cheese, a good red, blanket and book fireside, and I’m happy. Of course, there’s also the added attraction of tiny wrens!
I’m hoping to find some time to walk in the Perth Hills. I’m not sure what’s blooming at this time of year. I’m never home to find out! This picture and the next were taken in spring.
I know the coming weeks will bring moments of sheer joy.
There’s nothing like a sunset across the water here. I caught a brief glimpse, just a memory of what I know to be here.
The colours then muted down as it darkened.
Then there was night sky.
As the light faded I found a wader perched on a rock, like me, watching the schools of fish, some that jump out of the water with a splash. River mullet, I’m told. I’ve seen them dance upright across the surface of the water, flapping madly.
The fish were too quick and perhaps, the school too big, so the wader had to be content among the molluscs. It was as still and silent, as me.
One last pic before nightfall, and I’m happy, satiated even, with the few moments I had with my camera.
On the road beside me were several inland thornbill, given their size, they are also affectionately known as ‘button bums’. Had I not been forced to slow down, I would have missed this beautiful moment of shared joy.
The rain had left a puddle in the middle of the road. The birds were thoroughly enjoying a communal bath, undeterred by my presence.
Some immersed themselves fully and then shook themselves fluffy. 
Others walked away from the puddle with confidence and returned. Dip, fluff, repeat.
There was one that tried not to get wet and stretched tiny legs to stay upright.
The result was inevitable!
While another took a break and found me the curiosity. And, that was just fine with me!
During one trip to Lake Thetis I searched for the tiny bird for over an hour and then reluctantly decided, it was not my day. I took one last photograph of the Lake before turning around to walk away.
Then an imperceptible movement caught my eye. By the shore.
It turned around and looked straight at me! Joy!
Then turned away, the beautiful red cap clearly visible.
The stride is quick and effortless.
The stop and stare, well, fierce comes to mind!
This bird is a tiny creature. Yet, somehow, has the capacity to fill vastness by mere presence.
It is hot. It is red. It is dusty. The sky is blue. It is magnificent. 
There is a solitary tree at Spoilbank, in South Hedland. It is my favourite view from across the water. This is harsh country exposed to cyclones. I love the statement it makes. 
The muted shades of dusk.
The day ends beyond (tidal) Pretty Pool. It casts an iridescent glow.
The bird life at Pretty Pool is discreet. This heron was among the mangroves. It was barely bigger than a crow.
With a stretch that was amazing!
The tide had left a calling card. 
My favourite place early morning is near a church. The eagles like it too.
The magnificent cargo ships glide by, often without sound.
I’ve visited Cemetery Beach before when the turtles were hatching. (Yes, the beach is across the cemetery!). This time I found sculptures on shore. The real turtles in the sea were too quick to photograph.
A beautiful egret. An Eastern Reef egret, I think.
The rugged Pilbara shore.
Well, not quite! The noisy wattle bird, now silent, was within reach. Keeping my movements small, I put the sandwich down and picked up my camera.
Emboldened by the quiet, the bird started to feed. They are a joy to watch.
The wattle bird has ordinary plumage, and blends into the scrub with ease. But I look for the distinctive vivid yellow belly, when I find them, nestled deep in foliage.
The wattle bird is fascinating to watch when it feeds, with the delicate red wattles dangling on either side of the head. What is sacrifices in an unattractive metallic cackle call, it makes up in elegance.
When the wattle bird left to feed elsewhere, I found an acacia, the tiny flower, bright as a spotlight. It shone a light on a simple truth.
A Shared Space 
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