Sweet parting

 The holiday is over, and I have returned. But I'm remembering the blazing skies of my last night at the bach.

 The rain clouds, that never departed, did scatter a little that evening, and there were just enough of them to create more magical skies.

Clouds come floating into my life, no longer to carry rain or usher storm, but to add color to my sunset sky.
Rabindranath Tagore

What the Empress dropped (2)

I noticed that Madame Kereru dropped something else, each time she visited. Yes, she tears off a whole bunch of kawakawa in the course of her feeding, and drops it on the ground.
You could say that she's an untidy eater.
But there's more to it than this, perhaps.
In Maori tradition, it is often said that the forest birds shared berries with the kiore, the little Polynesian rat.

It is said, for example, that when miro berries were ripe, the kiore refrained from tree-climbing, for this was also the time when the birds fed on the miro. The kiore would stay on the ground, eating the berries that fell down while the birds fed in the trees above.


And so - is the Empress simply following an old tradition by leaving some for the kiore?
And does she know that the kiore is now pretty much extinct on the mainland, and has been replaced by the larger and much less friendly Norwegian rat?
I guess not (sigh).

But do not accuse her of being an untidy eater. She is an altruistic empress, and likes to share her food.

What the Empress dropped

In the late afternoon, this is what I found: a feather on a fern.

It was hard to photograph, but I captured it at last.

What a poetic gift from the Empress, leaving her fluffy feather perched so exquisitely.

I think of Hildegarde von Bingen's music, called 'A Feather on the Breath of God'.

The Empress reminds me so tread lightly into 2012, to remember balance, to maintain poise.

As I was taking the photos, I heard a whooshing of wings, and there she was again, perching in the kawakawa just above my head, showing me her white breast and purple-green top feathers. Thank you Empress, for your gracious message from the skies.
May we all go lightly into the new year.

Grasses in the rain

 As I walk to the beach in the rain, my attention is drawn to the grasses

the reeds alongside the swamp,

 and wildflowers everywhere.

 There are clusters of clover here and there, both red and white.

 On the dunes, seed heads are full

and the spinafex is ready to release its tumbling, spinning wheels.

Usually by this time of the year the sun has dried everything out, but with all the rain it's as if the grasses have had an extra burst of growth. Summer feels fertile this year.

Every new year I read my journal for the previous year, and contemplate what I wish to seed in the new year, and grow to fruition. Taking solitary time at the bach is perfect for this musing and wondering.
I wonder what you are seeding as 2012 begins. Whatever it is, may it be as full of life and promise as these grasses and wildflowers in the rain.

When the mozzies are biting

 When the mosquitoes are biting, having penetrated every nook and cranny, and even finding their way through screens and mosquito net,

 then you don't mind that the wind is now following the sultry days and the rainy days, and is shaking the tops of the trees, loosening out their hair, and sending debris flying,

 because you know that wind and mozzies just don't mix, and that although it's supposed to be summer holidays and no doubt many people are complaining at these pesky blasts,

you are smiling to yourself, because now you can settle down with your books, and lay down the fly swat, and stop worrying about batting off these zooming little vampires. And so you give thanks for the wind, and breath a sigh of relief.

New Year gifts

There are 72 steps from the carport to the bach. Must have been too much for the three wise men of Christmas, because I didn't catch a glimpse of them. The path way was covered with weeds, and overgrowth was encroaching from the sides, so that might have been an extra deterrent.
But two strong men were there - my son, and his friend from India, whose family is across the other side of the world. The friend came to stay at the bach last Christmas when he was newly separated and having a hard time. It was a pleasure to make room for a guest around the table, and this year when returned,(much happier) he felt like family.

Yesterday, on new year's day, the two strong men returned. They wanted to begin the year by saying thank you to the bach. They knew that, what with setbacks like a broken wrist, I hadn't been able to keep up with the maintenance this year. So they'd come to help. That's why the steps in the photo at the top can now be seen, and why this pathway along the downstairs room looks so neat.

 And why the little cabin above the bach can be seen (rather than the jungle that stood in front of it,

and why the garden, which was a wilderness of broad beans, with long grass all around, now has edges again, with the broad beans all dug in, and the new plants able to see the light. And why we had a fine meal last night, which I cooked for them in gratitude, with a big dish of broad beans straight from the garden.

Giving and receiving. Last Christmas was the time for giving. This year has begun with receiving. The wheels of life keep turning and bringing exactly what is needed, making this a happy new year already. And I hope it is for all of you, dear blog readers.

PS A big thank you to Hilary, who prompted me to change to pop-up comments, which makes things easier if you are on certain servers. So if you haven't commented before, please give it a go. I love to know you are out there, and that my posts have 'landed', wherever you are.

Being on tank water

Being on tank water means you don't mind when the rain sweeps across the country, saturating everything in sight,

and even though it's summer holidays when most people are looking for the sun, you just laugh because you can hear the water gurgling into the tank, and the sound is music to your ears,

 because it's just a small tank, and with up to six people here over Christmas, the water level was going down pretty fast, and you were starting to save slops for the garden and restrict your showers,

 but now as constant rain drenches the hills and sweeps up the valley, it's time for delicious rain-water showers once more, which soften the skin and hair,

and to rejoice in the greenness all around as the trees drink happily,

 the carrots stand up straight again,

and the newly planted capsicums are looking lively, knowing that although they were planted rather late, they have waxing moon energy on their side as well as rain-saturated soil,

and you know the rhythm of being close to nature, taking nothing for granted, and giving thanks for the generous gift from the skies. When you are on tank water.