The trees twitch dimly in the soft splats of rain as I walk. They quieten then quiver afresh in the slight breeze. The weather, one moment cloudy and the next bright. The sun comes and goes, a raw strong yellow, framing the edges of buildings and streets. Trees on the street overhang and I listen to the high-up sound of rustling. There is a smell in the air of eucalpt and of rich earth, a damp enduring smell. Earth dreams and air dreams. The light wind fills the air like waves on an empty shore and a gust drives a piece of paper skidding and flapping across the street and then high into the air to hang for seconds before falling damply to earth.

I listen to the sound of rain slicing down through the tired warm air, lightly spattering on the ground as I continue to walk breathing the smell of grassiness and the old unchanged odour of growth. I take in the shapes of trees and the tint of flowers as the sun continually strains through the clouds shining brightly on puddles, beating them into countless curls of light, all moving and flashing.

The creek flows muddily. Beyond the foresounds of the splash of water, the twittering sparrows and carolling magapies a heavy thrull, a nearly unheard roar of traffic gridning along the freeway, like the sea on some far shore.

In the morning the sun is barely bright. The trees stand as sentinels as the light splays across their grey trunks. Beyond, the land goes flat and unfeatured towards the converging sky. The grass is wet with dew. A kookaburra laughs, an incredible mimicry, the call crackles terra cotta on the silver pink dawn. There is a smell of damp land and earliness, of earth and dew and morning, and new beginnings. Scrollings of bird song unwind, the notes spiky and across the garden the soft spaced craw of crows as they greet the new dawn. I breathe in deeply until the chill makes me shiver.

As I stand I cradle a mug of hot coffee. Whirls of steam float upwards. The morning sky fades mauve and in it the sun, a pallid yoke, in the gelatine light. The sun’s thin shine evokes shadows nigh blue. Toby, my old cat comes out to join me in my morning musings and I feel his soft brush as he winds himself around my legs. Reaching down I scratch his throat. He stretches and purrs and rolls at my feet, baring his furry stomach for another tickle before silently padding off into the garden to do his morning business..

The tops of the trees ripple and shift in the slight breeze. The sun shines through the spread of branches and makes soft edged shapes of their grand, blurry amoeba movings, constant commingling divisions and reunions, plasmic. The gum leaves tremor and their murmur floats across the garden.. In the grass and in the air innumerable creatures fray the still with their small abrasive lives, a stridulant crust upon the mute earth.

A crow makes its slow, plundering flight over the rustling earth as the early morning lengthens to dry the dew out of the ground. Sounds begin to impeach, the distant roar of traffic and somewhere music, as from a radio, but faint. The music finds itself unerringly and seemingly celebrates itself, celebrates its dexterity and its grace in succeeding measures, music heard at distance, of joyfulness, made abstract, a scherzo of thought. The richness of the waiting world.

The evening settles after a flagrant sunset, which leaves a lingering contusion of lilac and salmon, slowly cooling cobalt and fading to darkness. The room in which I write is almost dark and I light the lamp on my desk. The green shade makes a great turnip jewel. The green light making the room mysterious in the corners, an oval secret cave, smudged dim. Shelves of books their spines dimly lit, lay hidden in the dark corners.

It has been a long time in coming to dusk and the lamp makes it in a moment a finality. Through the window the light died with a passionate slowness absorbed by the intense darkness, colours going first until an arrested, stilly poised moon held, a bright empty clarity that illuminates the trees abstractions in the moonlight. I look into the dark darkening trees and wonder what it feels like to go to sleep in them like a bird. Then the night swallows the trees and the green lamp now holds the world in its hue.

I cease writing and move outside where the quiet lays over the land in soft quiltings of hush where cloudy sounds diffusely drift. Far from me a train hoots echoing into stillness and a dog barks. In the far distance another dog faintly puts up a response, parenthetic howls within which silence attains the purest cadence.

Looking up, far, far above the stars, up through an immensity of the heavens, up to the stars in the furthest reaches, pinpoints, solitaires of dying suns. The world wheels steadily. The stars seem to drop down to earth, without growing larger, they seem to plummet down into my watching eyes, or else my mind is drawn out and up into those stellar heights, which marks the simple axis of the world. I suddenly felt very close to it all, still centred, hub held. In the slow spin of my thoughts, it is like a dream, with a dream’s unfolding inevitable progress as my eyes explore the immensity of the night.

After a warm windy day, the sky takes on a steely blue clarity and against this the gum trees inflict themselves; the simplicity of their outlines cradled against the sky, in an almost demented starkness, to become etched images of evanescence.

Dragging the hose-pipe behind me like a forever unwinding snake, I water the garden. In the drought conditions the earth simply soaks up even a fairly heavy sprinkling like a huge sponge, leaving the soil around the roots of new, not yet established plants as dry as dust. Standing and watering I noticed something out of the corner of my eye – a honeyeater wings beating the air taking an afternoon shower in the mist from my hose, it flits from plant to plant following the shower of water. Watering is a chore that I enjoy, it is a joy to be in the garden surrounded by its untamed beauty and watching the plants perk up after a day of heat.

Our five year old lemon tree leans heavily on its crutch. It doesn’t produce many lemons yet but in the dampness of the early evening the smell of its blossom pervades the garden. On the back lawn Starlings run rapidly, unearthing worms. A black bird sings perched upon the pool fence, its pure fluid song fluting through the early evening before it opens its wings and makes a low swoop across the garden fan tailed, to disappear amongst the gum trees. Wattle birds jump from branch to branch, chasing off the smaller birds who flit amongst the gum leaves unheeded by the larger birds. Ground doves, their courtship an almost absurdity, as the cocks fan their tails, swell and bow their heads up and down chasing the heedless hens on circular routes. With a white flare, a cockatoo arrives with a raucous scream upon a bow of a gum tree. Fanning his tail, he cleans with his beak, one feather then another. Another Cockatoo lands beside him in a flurry of wings, then another and another until the tree is covered in settled and resettling cockatoos. Constant squabbles at the feeding tray break out as the Cockatoos vie for position. They depart suddenly, squawking, as the sky darkens, leaving the air thin and pale and dim and in the trees a weight of darkness gathers. The stars appear, low and large and trembling.

The watering finished for another day I wind up the hose-pipe. The garden is now silent except for the whispering rustle of the leaves in the gums. In the last hour I have lived in the moment without worrying about deadlines or thinking about aches and pains or woes and wants. Time that passes as if it didn't exist. Not lost time - simply time out of time. Time when you don't grow older, or grayer or sadder - although you may grow wiser. Time in the garden simply does not exist it just is. It is a time for reflection and silent thoughts. It is a time of beauty and of being caught up in the moment that you feel yourself appreciating the simple beauty inherent in life.

After a warm day the dark clouds rolled in across the bay portending a stormy evening. By 8.30 pm the coastal plain below us was alight with streaks and forked lightening - the heavens gave us a tremendous display of its power.

By 10.00 pm fires were ranging at Port Nepean at 11.20 pm the rain has started to fall and the storm has all but disappeared.

We woke this morning to a pre-summer warmth. Already the temperature is creeping upwards and a stiff northerly breeze is now blowing, but this morning a slight breeze lightly played upon my face as I stepped outside the door.

I was greeted by Willy Wagtail. A cheeky and irreverent bird with a defiant tail and laughing eyes who demanded my attention by its constant flitting on the lawn. Willy Wagtails never stay long in the garden; only a few minutes but long enough to test my sense of humour and my value as a spectator as this one played the usual game. This morning visitor was in fine form. He limbered up with a conventional routine of hops and tail waves and short stepping dances. Then, within a few yards from where I was standing he did an effortless serious of about-facing hops. I almost clapped and called for more and if a bird can grin this wagtail did before he gave me another startling display of movement and with what seemed like a quick bow he was gone and once gain the garden returned to its normal serenity

Parrot vistors to the bird feeder this morning - a couple of young Lorikeets and a Rosella. Two young rabbits, a short distance from the house, scampered about our lawn, unaware that they were being observed as they played what seemed to be a game of tag . It was extremely hard to pull myself away from the window and start my trek to work.

After a brilliant sunset last night, the full moon, flicking on and off like a lighthouse beam, superbly lit a sky quilted with white cloud. Under a light wind the slender, spreading branches of our gum trees moved gently. Shadowed black on the underside, they shone in dancing moon - white when the light caught their upper surgaces, and whenever clouds crossed the face of the moon the branches made a dark restless tracery aginst the sky.

In the summer I would climb a rough track upwards, towards the Downs and riding stable under the secure and deep dappled tree shadows. At the end of my riding lesson, I would head down lanes and hollow ways towards the coast. The journey took something like two hours. I loved the walk under the elms and oak trees and between the hedgerows of hazel, hornbeam, and spindle where I would occasionally pick a bluebell or primrose, a wood anemone or yellow archangel to press between the pages of a book. Wrens, hedge-sparrows and whitethroats could be seen flittering amongst the depths. Song thrushes and blackbirds hopped at the hedge bottoms eating earthworms, slugs and snails and during the autumn months berry crops would be food for yellowhammers, bullfinches and chaffinches. In winter, fieldfares and redwings could be spotted. The hedgerows were alive with song and the movement of flittering butterflies, moths and birds as I dawdled my way homewards.

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The three Musketeers’

Occasionally, my two brothers would accompany me during the Summer vacation with packed lunches in hand. They would spend the morning playing on the Downs whilst I rode. When the three of us met up after my ride, rather than walk back along the beach we’d make out way home through the woods and across the Downs, High Down, Salvington and Cissbury Ring . We walked the dark cool depths of the ancient deciduous woods, dominated by oak where midges danced in the beams of sunlight. Sometimes we’d spot a lone rabbit or fox and above our heads grey squirrels would jump from branch to branch. As we moved further down well-trodden trails, we would occasionally espy an adder sunning itself in a sun drenched spot and as we drew near it would slide silently to disappear into the undergrowth. Tits foraged in the trees, constantly calling to each other and we would often stop and listen for the drumming of great spotted woodpeckers. The woods were a magical place, with trees to climb, glades of inordinate beauty to be investigated and streams to explore. As we walked through the deepest depths we would tell one another dark frightening stories. We were never afraid for we were the ‘Three Musketeers’.

The ancient trail

But soon the trails would lead us through and into the sunlight where we’d frolic in the fields, collect stones and flints, find Roman arrowheads, and pick wildflowers. We’d dawdle along the bridleways in the warm late afternoon air, chasing butterflies, chasing one another, playing out our dreams, the three of us discussing our future. We’d climb ancient stiles and make our way through cornfields, across paddocks and follow the ancient tracks made centuries before by the other footsteps of our ancestors. We would stop and rest and survey the view, which was far ranging across meandering rivers, the rolling Weald and the coast. We’d watch the deep sun blushing rose disappear beneath the sea from the top escarpment of Cissbury Ring, an ancient hillfort, before making our way in the opalescent light towards home. Foot sore, and weary, but happy, we would arrive home just as the night drew in. In bed, after a quick supper of bread and cheese, we would listen to the slow rhythmic smash of the waves upon the seashore, which would lull our tired legs and bodies into sleep.

Beating the Wave

On stormy days, we would run down to the beach and play a game we had created which we had named ‘beating the wave’. As the wave hit the groin (breakwater) it would rear up high into the air with a roar before dropping to smash onto the pebbled beach below. Our game was ‘chicken’. When the turbulent water receded we would run down the pebbles, stand as close to the groin as we could and wait for another wave to sweep in. When it swept in hitting the groin and reared up over us we would make a dash back up the beach, slipping and sliding on the wet pebbles with the wave arching over our heads, trying to beat it before it crashed down onto us. We were frequently drenched and I can remember our Mother none too pleased when we arrived home sodden. One time, our Father took a black and white photograph of the three of us caught under a wave as it reared up, the sea receding from around our feet. He did not capture the look of fear and anticipation on our faces as we were about to make a dash up the beach. Paul in the middle, Carl and I on either side, clinging to his arms. Our faces were pure anticipation of the run to come but who would chicken out first!

Myself as a Child

Another bad day in the office - if only I could be like this!

It's now 6.00 pm and the sun has disappeared. The evening has cooled as the heat goes out of the day.

Sunset in Melbourne 5.27 pm 1st October

Panoramic view of Melbourne

Melbourne is a close rival in size and population to Sydney. It is a tranquil, gracious city. Melbourne occupies a considerable plain that stretches between the deep blue ranges of the hills of the Dandenong ranges and the edge of the big, calm bay. The city skyline seems to change constantly, as multi-story skyscrapers replace old buildings. There are extensive public gardens as lovely as any in the world, imposing modern buildings in broad streets and boulevards, and some delightful lanes and arcades to explore. In Melbourne, the most fashionable suburbs are the south of the river, though the city itself, the University and its principal sports grounds and arenas are on the northern side. There are about 120 kilometres of lovely beaches inside the bay. The centre of Melbourne has a great dignity and calm. Malls and city squares abound with canvas awnings, and pavement tables where one can sit and watch the world go by in dappled sunshine under spreading plain trees. Huge towers, their walls set obliquely to the pavements have added an exigent air to our streets but there are still many peaceful old Victorian homes with sequestered gardens and innumerable suave yellow brick or concrete blocks of flats. Almost all streets are cardinally aligned. Frequently neither sea nor mountains are visible, but to the south east of the City, where I live, the mountains are visible as well as the sea. From radiating freeways, the city stands in blue or grey silhouette and its best view can be seen from the West Gate Bridge elevated high above the mouth of the Yarra River. Melbourne has its own individual features, we have a strong adherence to organised sport, especially to Australian Rules football, staged from mid February to late September, the Melbourne Cup staged in November, the Australian Open Tennis Championships staged in January and the Australian Grand Prix which is staged in March.

A forest of gum trees as far as the eye can see

Within a twenty-minute drive one can be in the country, which is vast, empty, and extremely beautiful. A third of Victoria is still bushland or forest wilderness, which includes towering mountain trees and dense rainforest. The north east of the State is mountainous. Magnificent forests, caves, lakes and waterfalls highlight the southeastern part of the State and in the west you will find lush green downs that make up the heart of the pastoral industry. To the east of the State the beaches are wide and long with clean, white sand curving around deserted coves and headlands. One beach is over a hundred and forty-four kilometres (ninety miles) long.

Victoria is aptly named the Garden State. The apple blossom, the roses of the north, begonias of the central highlands, the tulips, rhododendrons and azaleas of the Dandenong ranges, all circle the State in a kaleidoscope of colour. Autumn belongs to the ranges around Melbourne and the valleys of the northeast where sunlight filters through the poplars, liquidambars, beech and oak trees. Native wildflowers carpet the country mostly in spring and summer, but winter has its favourites too, dominated by the yellow and creams of wattle, which give way to the brilliant reds and pinks of flowering gums. Victoria is very much a State for all seasons.

In the clear light of this morning two King Parrots arrived and took possession of the birdfeeder. Gorgeously attired in red and green; leisurely and delicately they tucked into the bird seed ignoring the still strong wind that ruffled their feathers before pink and grey Galahs appeared chuckling and screeching and as comical as ever. They strutted and preened atop the guttering and roof, tilting and nodding their heads, watching the King Parrots a waiting their turn at the feeder.

Clothed in black with hard grey beaks and tough yellow eyes, looking sinister and villanious, beneath the feeder stalk a couple of crows pecking at the fallen bird seed, seemingly ignoring the commotion above them

A curtain of heavy cloud still covers the sky as parrots flash through the trees and ground doves, their heads forever nodding unceasingly, chase one another. A strong easterly wind still sweeps through the gums spreading branches and rattling the leaves, almost sounding as if surf is sweeping up a stony beach.

A frantic warning shriek from a parrot announces the wandering arrival of our neighbour’s treacle coloured cat, who halts and still-like watches the bird-life in action. With a delicate flick of her tail she turns and prances off, like a ballerina on tip-toes. Obviously uninterested, she makes her way down into the lower reaches of the garden to no doubt hunt and torment the small field mice and skinks.

There is always something to be seen in the garden but time rushes onwards and the clock ticks , in resignation I pull myself away from the window, having to head off to the drudgery of work ……

I enjoy walking in the sunlight under the web of branches throwing their shadows, listening to the birds, twittering, singing and trilling their joy of life. The walk takes me alongside a creek where the sunlight dances on the water, touching the surface and sending out sparks of bright light. Trees lean drunkenly from the bank and shimmering sunlight dances amongst their shadows and entangled undergrowth. In my imaginings, fallen logs become the faces of heavily jowled squatting trolls, flickering knats, faeries and one broken tree stump cloaked in draping ivy the Sorcerer, Merlin.

Blackbirds, minors, sparrows and finches flutter nervously from bush to bush, chattering to each other in harsh warning notes as I pass. Magpies sit in the lower branches, perfectly motionless, then they lift their heads corralling, serenading me on my way. Crows flap their wings and lift into the air, fly toward me and at the very last moment they veer, their wings beating like a whisper of wind as they pass by gaining height. Almost, simultaneously their wings still and they drift upwards on a current of air, dip again and glide out of sight. Very occasionally my eye catches the red and blue flash of a kingfisher, though this is a rare sight. Only once have I seen one dive, straight as an arrow, into the water, to emerge with a sprinkling of diamonds flowing behind. The grass always seems to bend and duck in the breeze and listening to its rustle it is almost as if it is waving and talking to me, telling me the whispered secrets of life

Home early last night as the sun dipped below the dark grey cloud-bank that had brought us so much rain throughout the day. The sun warmed puddles stretched across roads and pavements where drains had become clogged with fallen gum leaves and small twigs, which had been blown from the trees during the high winds of the past couple of days.

Gently, quietly moving ground doves, small and grey, waddled and called monotonously in the garden. Cockatoos arrived to perch in restless, shrieking groups, flashing brilliant white wings in the dying embers of the sun and rubbing their beaks against the grey bark of the branches and watching the bird feeder with avid eyes.

Galahs appeared, all flaming pink and soft grey, screeching their arrival as they settle and resettle within the trees making much ado about nothing about their landing. Two cockatoos, sitting close together and pruning each others feathers, stop to watch the galahs antics and tut-tutter their folly and stupidity.

Ducks waddle across our lower garden, their beaks forever digging into the soft wet ground looking for grubs and other such tasty morsels. Easily startled they will take flight if disturbed, so contentedly I watch from my vantage point for fear of disturbing them.

Through the trees above me rushed, chattered and twittered small birds, singing their joy at the wet weather. Nosy and gregarious, blackbirds, thrushes, finches, sparrows and wrens clamoured loudly in their pairs and small groups.

A rare but occasional visitor to our garden, a lonely Ibis, sits perched on a dead branch preening itself. Occasionally, it changes position to ease its absurdly long thin legs and stretches its wings enjoying the last of the sunlight little disturbed by the small birds flying close to its perch.

The light changes through sunset to dusk and the gum trees, so shortly before alive with birds, gradually become silent and still as venus blazes its brilliant starlight in the night sky.

A band of visiting cockatooes

We honestly can't complain about our Spring weather in Melbourne. We had an extremely warm weekend. We've not had much Spring rain but today it is absolutely pouring with rain and you can literally hear the ground gurgling and burping away!

Yesterday it was 28C, sunny with light cloud cover and a high wind. In the early morning Terry and I worked in the garden, breaking up clumps of daffodil bulbs, moving some Christmas lilies, and laying bark over garden beds to retain moisture during the coming Summer months. Later in the afternoon we relaxed in our outdoor spa in the warm sunshine easing our aching limbs.

In the early evening visiting Cockatoos, became extremely distressed. Screaming and flapping their wings they created a cachopony of noise. Investigating I found a ring tail possum in a tree that the cockies were obviously pursuing. Cockatoos are quite feisty characters but they obviously needed some assistance. Grabbing the hose pipe I doused the possum with a spray of water. The possum took umbrage at this drenching and disappeared fairly quickly, squeaking his anger and literally flying from branch to branch in his haste to get away from the shower of water. Once again, peace was restored in the garden!

In the evening after a barbecue we continued to sit outside enjoing the warm evening with a bottle of red wine and watched the brilliant sun slowly slip below the horizon.

Agapanthas are like weeds and spread like wildfire in a garden. They are a beautiful plant when in flower and because of the lack of rain and warm weather this year, some of the plants are flowering early.

They add a burst of incredible color to the garden
The plants will flower in an array of colors from deep violet to lavender to pure white.

They like rich soil and lots of sunshine and will flower in the spring and summer months.

Aborigines lived their lives with unquestioning acceptance of all things, trusting the land to provide. I have come to learn through my reading that they were anything but backward. Yes, they were childlike, almost backward children but they were intelligent with sharp accurate memories and a vast store of instinctual knowledge. They relayed the stories passed down to them through the generations. Reciting their tales of ages old memory of the people and land, linking them to a long past impossibly remote which came alive in their memories and words. The aborigines are as much a part of the land as the land is a part of them and as long as we hear and remember their stories and as long as their words have meaning, then this ancient land will survive.

The weather in Melbourne has become mild and the sun warm. The ground is still damp from recent rains and the air smells of wet grass and treebark. The dark lowering clouds have begun to break up and the days have become longer, though the evenings remain chilly and we still run the log fire or the heating. Over the weekend we worked on some garden beds attempting to get the garden in order for Summer before the ground becomes too hard to work with. There's much confusion it its riot of disorder and Sunday was spent in yet another part of the garden, cutting down overgrown branches and clearing the ground of grass and weeds in dappled sunlight. Whilst Terry was cutting down one branch a possum jumped over his head and scampered up into a nearby tree and I'm not sure who was the most shocked!

A garden ornament amongs the plants

It's been a strangely beautiful cloudy day. With Cumulous clouds brewing in the West, both white and blue-black and the east is suffused with a golden light between layers of cloud. Crepuscular rays send broad streaks of light across the sky and a rainbow arches in its ever-changing fading lines. Cross shards of light fall through mottled branches of eucalpt trees with sunlight dripping off the leaves.

A flock of grey and pink galahs, have just taken flight, departing our garden in the last light of the sun flying towards the east, grey birds, in the pale, light-blue sky. As they wheel their bright pink chests catch the sunlight before they wheel again disappearing into the distance.

Another spring flower display

At last, the dark clouds of this morning have begun to lift, the sky has become a soft blue and sunlight strikes the earth, glinting on puddles and greening the ground. The wind is softer though still chilly and shredded clouds scud gently across the sky.

Spring flowering freesias in our garden

Spring has finally awoken from its brooding sleep, as the Winter coldness edges from the land, unlocking with some private incommunicable note of triumph, marching forward with a burst of colour into another cycle of life. The architrave of the sky creeps earlier and later towards light as the sun rises higher each day to cover the shivering earth with fingers of warmth. The tangled bare branches of sleeping trees and bushes are rendered into bead strings of buds, which burst forth in a blaze of colour. Wattle trees are puffed out in a thousand yellow flowers. Working in the garden is a joy digging in the damp earth surrounded by nodding daffodils and blossom, watching the dormant plants come to life and to see those we'd planted and cut back in the autumn spring forth with new growth.

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The view from the patio

In the North West of Victoria the farmers are suffering from drought-like conditions - the Winter rains have come and gone without delivering a good drenching for the parched land. Will Victoria again see the destructive tornado-like swirls of dust on the plains covering everything in a choking mass of red dust as we did in 1982?

We woke this morning to the mourning cry of the curlew - an eerie cry from a small ground living bird. There is something haunting about its sad wailing cry. Like the cry of the dead - a pitiful cry of a soul doomed to eternal damnation in hell.

Nearby a crow sits perched in an eucalpt tree watching with its beady eyes a superstitious shudder runs through me when it spreads its wings and with a long, lazy cawing call it takes flight.

Our Rhodedendums are now in flower

Some of our decidious trees now have a faint colouring of green as their buds begin to burst into leaf. Pink and white flowering cherries are now fully out and are absolutely glorious. Daffodils and crocus nod their heads in the light breeze. Having cut back my rose bushes in July they too are now beginning to shoot into leaf. It really is a wonderful time of year.

Another beautiful sunset as the day fades and the weekend draws nigh. What a beautiful day it has been even though I have been working from 8.00 am here in the office. So busy organising the logistics for our Presentation Day for 180+ analysts and journo's. The day seems to have scooted along and now sitting here watching the sun slowly fade from the sky and listening to the fading bird song I feel content ...

as does Kippers, asleep and dreaming ...

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Taken on Matt's 22nd birthday - so young, and so happy - the best thing that ever happened to Matt and Jacqui was Devon. Suddenly both Matt and Jacqui grew up ... both of them have continued their studies - Jacqui in her final year studying Environmental Science at Monash University. Matthew doing Computer Engineering. It's a struggle but they are coping ... we are so proud of them.

Geoff - I should really be studying, but having studied the paper and all the junk mail I might as well watch footy on tv!

A windy Spring has burst forth with howling winds which has whipped blossom from the trees and created havoc not only in our own garden but in the surrounding suburbs of Berwick as well as Melbourne as a whole.

We woke yesterday to find our garden setting sitting in the bottom of the pool! We'll no doubt have to hire a wet suit to retrieve it as the water is freezing this time of year unless someone who reads this blog has another idea - any suggestions would be appreciated!

The wind during the evening was so forceful that it has blown the top off one of our gum trees which is now sitting in our neighbours garden draped partially over the fence. Luckily it missed their pool and tennis court! My husband will tackle it with the chainsaw over the weekend. More wood for the fire next year!

Our free standing basket ball hoop (the base is filled with sand) was blown directly over and fell in the middle of four cars without damaging any!

We feel fairly lucky as we have escaped so easily whereas others have had quite substantial damage to their homes. During our drive into work yesterday, we saw many trees blown over by the forceful winds.

We've not had many visitors to our feeding trays due to the strong winds. Most of our parrot friends are no doubt sheltering in the nearby bush.

But baring the high winds, Spring has finally begun to wake from its brooding sleep as Winter coldness edges slowly from the land. The architrave of the sky creeps towards light which clarifies and brightens daily as the sun rises higher to cover the shivering earth with fingers of warmth, unlocking some private incommunicable note of triumph to march forward with a burst of colour into another cycle of life. The tangled bare branches of sleeping trees and bushes are now rendered into bead strings of buds, some of which are beginning to burst forth in a blaze of colour. Working in the garden is a joy, surrounded by nodding daffodils and blossom, digging in the damp earth, watching the dormant plants come to life and to see those we've planted and cut back spring forth with new growth - there is something very special about this time of the year.

King Parrots are rare visitors to our bird feeder. These two turned up and stayed for at least an hour and were quite happy to be photographed.

Haven't seen these fellows for a while! They've returned after an absence of a few months. Word must be getting around that the feeding tray is filled more than twice a day

10.00 am - The cockies have departed and we have refilled the second feeder and have been visited by three galahs. Rather handsome parrots with their bright pink shirts. They have a rather raucous scream and constantly squabble for the table.

8.00 am - The day has started with a motley crew of cockatoos visiting our bird feeder. Five eventually managed to land and feed of the feeder with dire consequences - it collapsed so now my husband is paying a visit to a hardware store to find a longer screw so that we can rehang it.

By early evening the clouds began to lift and the sun slowly sank in a blaze of gold

and the crescent moon began to rise in a clear sky

and in the early morning the Lorikeets paid us a visit twittering in the day in the own blaze of colour

Sunset over Melbourne Saturday evening taken from our patio

Visitor to the feeding tray today, "Arthur" the cockatoo but where is the feeder?

Here are the guilty party tucking into the sunflower seeds on the other tray!

We have one of the most spectacular coastal drives in the world here in Victoria. The Great Ocean road with its windswept magnificence and haunting drama hugs the coast in a series of tortuous switchbacks that snake around the wooded foothills of the Otways. Every turn yields a breath-taking vista. It winds its way around ragged cliffs, windswept beaches and tall buffs and passes through lush-mountain rainforest and towering eucalyptus.

The roads runs 247 kilometers from Warnambool (where one can see the huge southern white whales during September and October frolicking just metres from the shore) through to Torquay. There is much to see and experience along the route. The Great Ocean Road was constructed in August 1918 to commemorate the Australian soldiers who lost their lives in WW1. Carved from precipitous cliffs and sodden rainforests in was finally completed in 1932.

The twelve Apostles

Its three main regions - Geelong Otway, Shipwreck Coast and Discovery Coast and Hinterland - feature everything from beautiful surf beaches, serene bays and inlets to rugged cliffs, huge rocky outcrops and lush rainforest. You can explore the scenery, towns and cities by road or bike and can take a walk for a closer look. You can begin your journey at either end of the road and take the coast or inland route.

Inland, the road cuts through the Otways, which is a forested landscape ecologically rich and visually splendid. Within its dripping gullies stand tall tree ferns and ancient myrtle beech. One can drive down avenues of some of the world’s tallest hardwoods and towering mountain ash.

Some of the major sights along the way include Bells Beach and the Shipwreck Coast where over 80 shipwrecks lie at the bottom of the ocean. The Loch Ard Gorge is the location where the tragedy of clipper ship Lorch Ard, which claimed the lives of 53 people, took place. The sheer variety of the Port Campbell Park’s natural features are awe-inspiring. Tens of thousands of years of erosion by the fierce Southern Ocean on the soft limestone clifs have created the spectacular natural rock and cliff sculptures synonymous with the Shipwreck coast.

This coast also houses the Great Ocean Road's most recognizable attraction, the Twelve Apostles, which is a series of rock pillars rising majestically out of the ocean. Other notable and distinct rock formations include the London Bridge (which collapsed a few years back), Blowhole, and Grotto, Lorne, Port Fairy and the Otway National Park wherein lies Moonlight Head with its eroded red cliffs and the haunting beauty of Wreck Beach . Taking a stroll at low tide, you can explore the rock pools and the exposed anchors of two ill-fated ships the Gabrielle (wrecked in 1869) and the Fiji wrecked in 1981 which lie exposed with their rusty flukes jutting skywards.

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Dark clouds still hang over Melbourne

Diamonds of rain slip and slide upon the window. A rainbow appears and arcs, its colours at first vivid, slowly fading into nothingness. Swirls of dark clouds, threaten. Cars snail along the freeway leaving trails of spray in their wakes.


Cars along the freeway

From the window, roofs gleam and the ground is spotted with glistening puddles. Mud oozes from the roadworks, turning the car park below my office and its surrounds into a glorious mud bath. Cars emerge into the carpark to slowly pick their way amongst the many potholes. A pale blue sky appears, clouds are now tinged with brilliant white and the city gleams in the distance. Cranes atop the new buildings their arms outstretch, peer skywards. The varied colours of greens parade themselves atop sparkling diamond studded rain drenched trees.

A dog bounds through the mud below, kicking up sprays of mud as he slides through and into puddles! His owner, rugged up in an old brown coat and boots trudges with shoulders slumped – if only he would look up and see the charmed winters subtle light and the Spring’s miracle of surging growth in the golden blossom of wattle trees.

I realise that this wonderful land reaches out to me, taking me, claiming me in the words I write and that I have become a part of this whole vast country with its deserts, mountains, valleys, bush, flood plains, tropical forests and cities. A vast landscape that creates an ever-increasing word diary as the songlines did to the aboriginals of the past.

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Pathways

Pathways stretch throughout Australia. Europeans in Australia know these pathways today as ‘Dreaming tracks’ or ‘Songlines’. Aboriginals know them as the ‘Footprints of the Ancestors’ or the ‘Way of the Law’. The Aboriginals sang out the name of everything that crossed their path, birds, animals, plants, rocks and so in this way not only sang the world into existence but mapped Australia. As they walked through the country, they scattered a trail of words and musical notes along the lines of footprints that they created. These Dreaming tracks lay over the land as ‘ways’ of communication between the most far-flung tribes. When an Aboriginal moved into another tribe’s territory, he would learn the Songlines of that tribe and thus would be able to move further through the land.

Perhaps this is what this blog is doing – creating a songline of words to travel across the internet to different people throughout the world, to bring it dancing to life in other minds

Visitors to the birdfeeder Saturday

The magpies started to sing even before the faintness of dawn on Saturday and as the sky lightened cockatoos flew across the pale sky, all silvered by the oblique light, their squarking filling the air before dense dark rain rolled in with its drowning rain and hail stones. I enjoyed the sound of the rain and hail drumming on the roof, streaming in torrents from the gutters.

Hail stones falling in the garden

I could feel the tenseness in the darkened clouds and the waiting dry earth. For most of the day great storm clouds surged and roll over the landscape, turning sombre and darkly threatening, pouring more heavy rain.

The rain slackened and the drops became fewer and gentler and gradually the sun came out for a brief respite casting oblique bars of sunlight through the clouds. Late in the afternoon a golden streak of light lit the plain below us in a golden haze.

A streak of sunlight lightening the coastal plain below us

Ground doves scuttled through the undergrowth pecking at the fallen sunflower seeds and cockatoos paid us a visit for their evening snack departing as the twilight set in and the coastal plain slowly became invisible in the ever-encroaching darkness, the southern cross and its pointers began to glow in the night sky, slowly becoming brighter. The headlights of cars move along the roads below us as the dark and cold, closed down on Berwick for the night.

Our garden in summer with the gum trees and tree ferns

Slowly the weather warms. In January, we have long hot days but then the heat finally abates and the sky fills with dense grey clouds and within a few hours the temperature dropps and ill winds, thunderstorms and rain sweep through lightening the sky with forks and flashes and the earthy sound of rumbles of thunder.

After the thunder storms and rain, the returning sun brings a living smell rising from the steaming earth and a freshness to life, as if everything has been washed anew. After so much rain, the earth is soft and rich with dampness and the surrounding countryside is filled with freshness and vigour. Grass and leaves drip heavily with moisture. Such beauty in the sparkling glints. Brushing the tips of leaves, water drips dewed like tiny diamonds – if only they were real! Sun spangled, they shimmer the wealth of nature as they fade upon the cool green leafy veins. Pattern, gossamer spider webs magically appear, stretching across the gaps between bushes, charting their spun passages of eternity. A thin vapour rises from the pool, slowly becoming transparent as the sun appears with its warm embrace.

Two fiesty Rainbow Lorikeets. They chased all the other parrots away - as soon as another type of parrot landed on the the other feeding tray these little fellows would swap feeding trays - half their time was spent flitting from feeding tray to feeding tray. In the far distance you can see a Rosella sitting in a tree watching the antics and wondering when he will get a feed!

Our home nestled amongst the gum trees

During September/October we once again awake in the mornings seemingly perched upon a sea of mist - it is almost as if we are floating in the sky. As we drive down onto the coastal plain towards work it is very scenic with tree-tops seemingly floating afloat. During the month the dark clouds begin to lift, the sky becomes a soft blue and sunlight strikes the earth, glinting on puddles and greening the ground. The wind is softer though slightly chilly and shredded clouds scud gently across the sky.

The garden looking towards the bay

Spring finally begins to wake from its brooding sleep, as the Winter coldness edges from the land, unlocking with some private incommunicable note of triumph, marching forward with a burst of colour into another cycle of life. The architrave of the sky creeps earlier and later towards light as the sun rises higher each day to cover the shivering earth with fingers of warmth. The tangled bare branches of sleeping trees and bushes are rendered into bead strings of buds, which burst forth in a blaze of colour. Wattle trees are puffed out in a thousand yellow flowers. Working in the garden is a joy digging in the damp earth surrounded by nodding daffodils and blossom, watching the dormant plants come to life and to see those we'd planted and cut back in the autumn spring forth with new growth.