The beach in winter is beautiful. Waves crash on the shore and the air is fresh.
I’d wandered along searching for whales, scouring the waves, but they were shy. Two ducks flew past me and landed in the sea. A decaying roo cast its smell into the breeze and I held my breath as I walked by.
I wasn’t the first person on the beach that morning. I followed footprints, human and dog. They were tiny dots in the distance, already on their way home. I turned and followed my own prints back to the stair case. The Sunday morning walkers were up by the time I got back and I was glad to head home for my morning coffee.
I’ve walked around this inlet so many times, but every time, I see something different. The beauty of sparkling sun on tiny waves, twinkling like treasure just out of reach. A dolphin popped up beside us one morning, oblivious to us standing watching in awe from the bank. We watched its graceful glide as it slowly meandered down the inlet. Further on, early morning breakfasters sat enjoying the winter sun, sipping their caffeine fix, but we have no time to linger. The town is starting to wake, cars drive by and I wonder where they are off to, this early on a Saturday.
On we go, weaving our way around the inlet. A black sea bird sits on a rock, wings out stretched like a gargoyle. It’s always on the same rock, in the same position enjoying the warmth of the sun. We cross the metal bridge and listen as it squeaks and groans under us. Black swans, so elegant, drift on the water nearby. Into the mangroves we venture, tiny roots poke skywards and I fear dropping something into the mud.
Too soon we are on the homeward stretch and the pace increases. More people pass by and the ding of a bicycle bell warns us to walk single file. The dolphin is still fishing and from the boardwalk we watch shoals of fish dart to and fro. Another day has dawned.
It rained once last month, the wettest April day on record.
So today everyone was very excited when we heard the large drops on the tin roof. It’s lovely to watch the rain fall and see the earth soaking it up, plus it saves us watering the garden. Wonder how we’ll feel at the end of winter?
Gnomesville a sprawling village of thousands of gnomes, is located about 30 minutes from Bunbury. The gnomes come from all over the world and have set up village here. The village is continually expanding and every time we visit we are amazed by how much it has grown.
Eddie the little gnome I took home
Girl Guide Gnomes
Coordinating and organising flights for seven people is almost a degree. People are flying into and out of different airports and countries and trying to organise dates and times and connections has been a challenge. I fly with my folks to Charles de Gaulle Paris, then dad and I fly from Orly to Biarittz, mum flies from CDG to Dublin. In October Brian and the children fly from Perth to Barcelona and Dad and I fly from Santiago to Barcelona. We arrive 4 hours before Brian, probably the longest 4 hours after not seeing them for almost 5 weeks. My mum and brother and brother-in-law will fly from Dublin and then we’ll all have a great reunion before Brian and the children crash after the long haul flight.
And then I have to do it all again to Dublin and London as we all head off in different directions.
I must be one of the worst bloggers. This is my 200th post and I probably could have reached it last year if I was more prolific. I’ve been busy, graduating again, starting my PhD, learning Spanish (thanks Dora the Explorer) revising my french and walking.
I leave with my parents on August 30 and arrive into Paris Sunday afternoon on the 31st. My mum will fly home to Ireland and no doubt drive my brother and brother-in-law insane. :) While dad and I will head to St Jean Pied de Port to begin our 800 kilometre adventure.
Here are a few photos of our training so far. Western Australia is a beautiful spot :)
Indian Ocean the Back Beach
Early morning walk. Indian Ocean
Dad at Crooked Brook Dardanup
Crooked Brook Forest walk
Grass Tree – Xanthorrhoea
Yesterday we had to make the heart breaking journey to the vet. Even though we knew it was time for Wes to go, it was still very traumatic. He had gone downhill in the last two weeks and although he still knew when it was dinner time nothing else seemed to work. Do dogs get dementia? I’d let him out for a wee and then he just wandered until one of us tapped him and guided him back inside. He slept most of the day and then paced most of the night.
My son cried so much I had to keep him off school today. He sits in his window and stares out at the grave. Not sure how to comfort him, I’ve distracted him with movies, but it doesn’t last long.
Goodbye Wes August 1998-March 2015. It was a good innings.
After much fretting and changing of minds and plans, my Camino trip is back on. At the minute it’s just my dad and myself walking. Hopefully it will stay that way. By the time we leave the family will be sick hearing about the trip.
My husband, the three children and my mum will meet us in Barcelona in October. At least that’s the plan at the minute.
I bought a bright orange backpack so dad can spot me anywhere.
We started our training today. I wore my orange backpack and my boots. The boots are not that comfortable, but I’ll try them a few times before I give up and buy a new pair. We walked 14.80 kilometres. I’m tired, one foot is sore, my back is sore and it’s only lunch time. Dad went home and had a sleep. I think we have a long way to go before we are Camino ready. But I still can’t wait.
Red Tailed Black Cockatoos at Jamarri Sanctuary
Photo by Smills Enjoying a biscuit
Before Christmas a group of artists – writers, painters, photographers were invited to Helms Forest and Jamarri Cockatoo Sanctuary. The idea was to inspire creativity within the group and to hold an exhibition to bring awareness to the plight of the Black Cockatoos and their future if the intended logging at Helms goes ahead. The Cockatoos are amazing birds and the Red Tail is one of my favourite. Although they are very noisy. Below is my poem. (Hamadryad is a nymph who lives in a tree and dies when the tree dies).
The Last Hamadryad
As last Hamadryad
Lay down on the forest floor.
A carpet of dry leaves and grasses
Cushioned her beneath the Banksia tree,
Too weary to continue the fight against the
Machine. The one that drove her kind away. Fleeing on
Black wing, a glimpse of red tail feather, as the dryads and
Nymphs departed. The eerie silence spoke of the soulless of the
Invader. Of the emptiness that was to come. Loneliness beckoned