morning in White Rock

"So, how are the new digs?" a friend innocently asked. She knew we weren't living the desired scenario. "It's Okay", I responded. "small, but we'll survive".

And that is the truth. The place is acceptable, comfortable... nice even. It might be a long way to drive to school, but what it lacks in convenience, it sure makes up for in scenery.

Saturday morning I woke early and felt in dire need of a good walk. As luck would have it, I had the foresight to snatch up my camera on the way out - you never know what you might see along the way. I was mighty glad I did, because it was a glorious morning with a fiery sunrise to welcome in the day.

Would you believe, these first two shots were taken out the front of the place we are staying in. Breathtaking.

A fine mist curled up from the pond like steam from a coffee cup. A Great Blue Heron rested in a meditative pose on the edge of a nearby bridge, and an approaching train wailed in the distance.

During my walk, I stopped to watch the water birds - one last look at the Canadian Geese - they would be migrating South for the winter soon, and so will I.

Many walkers and thinkers were out that brisk morning. It seems the morning truly does have some kind of magical property - the energy of awakening - a buzz that comes with a new day, a new beginning and a new opportunity.

I returned home as the sky, now soothed of its raging oranges and reds, after walking the length of the jetty; stopping briefly to watch the tethered sail boats bobbing in the icy water. The tranquil sound of the lapping water was interspersed by the hungry call of circling gulls and that fore-mentioned train; now snaking its way along the coast. I wondered what the train driver must see along his journey, and whether this section of the journey brought him as much delight as it did me - what a brilliant way to start the day.

puzzled

Of all the crazy-arsed ideas...Man!

When I was a child, I lived on a farm in the middle of nowhere...well, actually it was in the middle of a tiny rural community in the Murray Mallee district of Southern Australia.

Our farm could be found along a highway bound for Sydney. Neighbours were generally a drive away, so the sounds of the day were largely our own, and reasonably predictable.

In those days I guess I was an early riser, because I remember the sun rising in the morning, casting a glow across the land, and warming the night cooled sand beneath my bare feet.

The puzzling thing about this scene was a particular sounds I would hear during the summer months at that time of day - sunrise. I later came to learn that this sound was in fact a freight train, snaking its way through the tiny township that sprawled in sporadic clusters just beyond the golden dunes and cereal crops, but at the time, I had concluded that the distant chugging of the steam train, was in fact the sound the sun made, when whomever it was, hoisted that tired and sleepy yellow orb begrudgingly into the darken sky, to light and herald in the new day.

To me, the "whats" of that sound were a no-brainer, since it seemed to occur around the same time of each day; just as the sun peaked over the dunes. Unfortunately my bubble burst on the whole idea, when I asked my Mum how the sun made that sound, to which she narrowed her confused eyes at me and told me it was the train. I argued with her about it, but alas, her argument seemed....mmm, saner!

Since that time, I have been searching for a reasonable description of the sound the sun makes when it rises, and I guess I would have to say that is warbles like a magpie, crows like a rooster, screeches like a parrot, laughs like a kookaburra, twitters like an orchestra of tiny birds, honks like the Canadian geese, thuds like the morning newspaper on my doorstep, sopranos like the creaky gate next to my house and rustles like drowsy children wrestling with the bed sheets. I love it.

Sunday Scriblings - Puzzled.