It is the nearly the end of January and in the wetlands alongside the river, the heat has nearly dried up the water in them. Where just a few weeks ago, the Ibises flocked at early morning and early night fall to stride through the muddy waters, heads down, beaks down, finding their food, only a few gather now following the reseeding waters. The would nestle in the dying trees in the middle of the lake at night placing their long legs under them and folding their wings about them. Gone to are the ducks, that had been multiplying during the Spring and spent their days lazily swimming, and resting by the banks during the day. The male strutting around protecting his family,the growing ducklings becoming more daring, investigating the insects, gaining weight and growing. Where are they I wonder, I hope they are safe. The frogs too seem to have gone underground burying in the mud, under the green waving reeds, waiting, waiting for the rains to come again. Lily and I stand upon the small hill and look down at the scene with sadness and gradually make our way across the Troll Bridge, to the woods, and potter amongst the trees, observing the tall snow white gums, that stand naked – their winter bark littering the forest floor and stand and face the wind as we decide if we will wander across to the river. But today, it is hot, and we wander between the avenue of the Pine trees, wondering if the Devas are watching down upon us, and the fairies, oh yes there are fairies down her will show themselves this day but the magpies are too noisy and the mudlarks are nesting – the willy wagtails acting like soldiers, defending too their nests. The heat is rising and Lily is puffing, time to wander home and return at sunset. Life is like this, and we change too, perhaps unknown, but change we do, as the cells reproduce themselves, our attitudes change towards certain issues, and out bodies age – gradually, just like the wetlands – as we become a part of the ever changing cycle of life of birth, growth and rebirth. I quote to from ‘Doing Life,’ by Brian Dibble about the wonderful WA writer Elizabeth Jolley, who said as a preface in Chapter 2, “Perhaps the summers were remarkable because, in their difference, in their contrasting and in their confluence, they made one threshold. (Of Butchers and Bilberry Baskets,’. I particularly liked this lady’s writings, and shared some history with her, as she had come to Perth to live to spend life here, as she put it, as did I, from another State, another way of life, and also in the UK and the continent. But today I come a full circle, as I crowd in upon myself.
Day by day by the Swan River and Wetlands.
New Moon on the horizon and it will be in Virgo.
Whether I walk with Lily, I dream too. Today, after more rain had fallen, and for a time it did not, as I walked I observed the strange wimsical clouds, their shapes as you can see dispersin and reforming. Birds hovered and sailed with the wind, smaller birds chasing the larger ones from their next. It was a barney day, a days as if mother nature took a break and let the remainder of us to just be. The impace of the clouds in the water as a weak sun shone down reflected these images.
Mr and Mrs Duck, bring their babies at dusk out on to the grass by the wetlands. I see them gobble up insects as father tall and regal watches. They do not go too far from the shore. They need to watch out for the Ravens.
All my writing is connected to the river, and I often think of myself as Ratty, who boated and lived by the river.
This river is ancient, and holds many secrets, so say the She Oaks, who mostly reside along its banks, and very close to the edge, so that their roots often splatter in the mud, as their lean out over the river, its limbs rests for darters and pelicans at night. I often feel I am observed but that is due to the fae, herabouts.
The Crone requires an audience. I will bring her in tomorrow.
The Goddesses for September which is September in my neck of the Woods are worth exploring for their guidance and understanding of ourselves. So Spring is a dynamically charged time of year that brings forth what has remained quietly invisible throught the Winter months. What has remaioned unseen, now breaks ground. Prepare a personal ritual of rite of passage to celebrate the myster and power of the invisible made visible. Your ritural can be a simple solo ceremony or a community celebration involving others for added support and shared experiences. I’ll begin with Tiamat, the dragon Wisdom from the days of Babylon, Her affirmation is ,”I make life-enhancing decisions. I face my feaars with courage, seeing them for what they are. I am Dragon wise, I show my power. (More tomorrow)
Base it upon your intent for this time of the year, perhaps light a green candle and use your journal to elaborate upon your intention. Invoke one of the Springtime Goddesses to help you stretch your imaginations. Tap into fairytales that invoke Spring or create one for yourself. Remember all change, all healing begins as a thought, a change of consciousness. Translated into vivid and lifestyle adjustments, dramatic results can take place. So be it. More tomorrow.
There is a presence in the river, whether it is the Rainbow serpent, which I believe winds its way along the river day in and day out, connecting to the rainbow above, linking it to the water holes and dams however there is woman figure that I see from time to time, upon the river. I am not sure where she is from but she wears a dress and a cloak. Sometimes, she comes up on the land, standing there wrapped in herself and then vanishes into thin air. So many traditions have found their way to these shores, through Immigrations and maybe set up home here, so there is not one definable deity here. However there is a presence, and the river dreams its way through the countryside, the billabongs, the wetlands to the sea
Photos for this page will be found on my page The Hidden Parchment Nook and Cranny.
Today my focus was upon the continuation of the life cycle and the small flowers, the grasses, the new life pulsating, to the ducklings, and tiny birds.
And again the river is always dreaming,
and I like the Wagyl, the rainbow serpent,
transfer myself to the sky, where I become the Rainbow,
twisting in and out,
giver of life am I thus I ,feed the dry, lagoons, the water hols, the billabongs
I am life. I am a giver of life.
20 August 2018
And still the rains fell, dissolving into newer pools and shapes in the wetlands the new grass is so green it blinds the eye. These wells of water are forming everywhere making pathways impossible to walk in, but Lily, does not seem to mind as she splashes through them nor do I really as I peer into one observing a reflection in it of the clouds above.
Mushrooms, and toadstools are claiming their spot around the trees on higher ground, and moss creeps through cracks forming patterns. My eyes roam for shapes, contours, colours, wet trees as I listen to a cacophany of frogs, each with a different register in the wetlands. From time to time to time I espy a shape, disapearing behind one tree to another and I know I am being observed so on the pretence that I am not interested I turn my attention elsewhere.
At present there is incredible bird life about, copious ducks and ducklings, the occasion laughter of the kookaburra and in the river the Waggyl stirs, snaking its way through the muddy waters.
As I reach the river following the billabong, I follow the path of the ducks heading towards it. The river has a presence and as I visit it each day I feel it, and it draws me as it rolls along, back and forth to the sea dreaming of what I wonder.. There are times when I feel her rise and using the waters as her cloak, splash out and wander about. A dripping apparition, leaving footprints in the sand. Sometimes she beckons me to come forth, but I hang back, a little afraid but I feel one day and it will be very soon, she will speak with me, though she does it it other ways at present for I have felt her presence for years as I too am part of this combing of land, sea and sky.
Thanks for joining me!
Good company in a journey makes the way seem shorter. — Izaak Walton