Morning view from my back verandah
Only two weeks ago I was raving about the wonders of autumn. I took this photo from my back verandah, thinking how blessed I was to see this as I stepped outside each morning.
Then in the late afternoon, with the sun accentuating the pale bark, my large gum tree (I didn’t plant it, don’t know the name) stood out like a sentinel, towering over everything.
Parrots love these red blossoms
I’m sure the weeping specimen in front of it is not supposed to be flowering yet, but, before parrots denude it of colour, I rushed again for my camera.
Pin-cushion Hakea
As the sun went down, I walked out the front door to find that my Pin Cushion Hakea was also flowering. Again, I’m pretty sure that this is out of season, but I’m just grateful for this gorgeous display. Hopefully by spring, they will all have regained their strength and put on another show.
Then winter struck with a vengeance. The RAC kept sending out red alerts as the long awaited rain was approaching the west coast on Friday. At the same time, fires raged in about thirty places in the south west of our state. It definitely felt like the ‘sunburnt country’ as it’s described in Dorothea Mackellars famous poem.
I collected twigs from the bush at the front section of my hills property, enough to start the fire to keep me warm and dry for at least a week (and provide light if the power failed as it often does up here during storms.) After the long wait without rain, it always seems to come upon me in a rush. In response to the RAC warnings, I went around the yard, collecting up gardening tools and wheel barrows and stored them safely in the shed, then made sure that the patio furniture was tucked away securely under the patio roof, back against the house.
Fire burns in its metal box.
fire raging in near Albany
With the fire roaring away in its strong metal box, I settled down to watch the news on television. That’s when I realised how serious were the fires down south. My sister, who lives in Albany, on the south coast of Western Australia, sent out this photo, taken from her back door. She left home soon after, for a safer place to spend the night. For a day and night, while we bunkered down, listening to rain pounding on the roof and hoping that strong winds didn’t remove said roof, our sister and her family and friends prayed for the anticipated rain to reach them.
The following day, 
this was all that remained of what had been a tree covered hill in Albany.
‘I love a sunburnt country.’ As a child I didn’t realise the scary truth in the words of that poem and song, although it was one of my favourites. Look up ‘My Country’ by Dorothea Mackellar if you don’t know them. I think it should be our national anthem.