"When sleep shuts off
the winter gale
with its freezing rain
and hail that clatters
on the iron
then silence wakes me
to a still
a softest quiet
I smile to myself
knowing through the night
"But the bush hath moods and changes,
as the seasons rise and fall,
And the men who know the bush-land
- they are loyal through it all."
"Autumn in my garden is when trees give their tickertape welcome to winter."
"With alternate shower and shine, the spring goes on her gusty way, and summer lazily woos the land. "
"The young leaves is shootin' on the trees,
The air is like a long, cool swig o' beer,
The bonzer smell of flow'rs is on the breeze,
An' 'ere's me, 'ere
Jist moochin' round like some pore, barmy coot,
Of 'ope and joy, an' forchin destichoot."
"But like a clammy pall comes Winter by and by, and the bush weeps night and day."
"Shy gold begins to peep through the sombre green - the wattle's wedding dress - and Spring is near... Then suddenly it seems, one golden morning, the Bush awakes, a living thing. Flowers bloom, birds sing, and all the world puts on its gayest dress to greet the laughing Spring."
"Yet Autumn is here like another Spring, a ministering, kindly season, healing the wounds of that too ardent love which Summer gave. "
"The seasons of nature resonate with the seasons of the soul."
"We're all nurtured by mother nature's cycles and seasons."
"Melbourne in autumn. Mellow yet crisp. The occasional keen wind. Good for the nerve ends."
"My backyard is a place to recharge and it's a sanctuary as well, because past the green lawn and the green trees is just brown dirt and 40-degree temperature. In the middle of a hot, dry season you wonder how anything can ever be green out here - I guess the lawn reminds me of that."
"Grey winter hath gone like a wearisome guest,
And, behold for repayment
September comes in with the wind of the west
And the spring in her raiment...
O season of changes - of shadow and shine -
September the splendid!"
"It is a thought as sweet as heaven to know that in the minds of each of us the may by the fence still blooms in an eternal springtime; that the snowdrop has in our hearts a triple birth, and blooms in three separate minds, faultlessly... So that if all the flowers and grasses and hollows and hills of the old house were razed and mutilated - as they are now, I suppose - we keep them intact in three minds, each depending on the other to supply it with the delicate minutiae of remembrance."
"The garden talks to me . This is my passion, where my creative energies come alive. Amidst the forest of native plants, grasses, herbs, spring bulbs, brilliant deciduous autumn trees, orchids and roses are emerging in pots and across archways. The garden is ever changing, just like the weather and me. I walk in it, sit in it, marvel at it and drink it in. I dream of what I can do, then I make it happen, bit by bit. And then I walk, sit, marvel and drink it in some more."
"Spring is here once more. The colour of the sky is beautiful - pale blues and greens, silvery in intensity. The first splashes of colour are apricot and cream. The apricot is expanding and deepening, a warning of things to come.
Deeper, stronger blues and purples have replaced the beautiful silvery colours, different but still beautiful. Dawn colours delight, often surprise. I love watching them."
"Keeping the darkness inside is like a never-ending winter in your heart."
"Death, like spring, brings with it the promise of renewal and new beginnings. "
"Spring is here. Outside is a glorious blue sky. Sunshine streams though the trees and into our window seat. Sprays of golden wattle burst from the trees. The garden is sighing, sated after the recent rain. Birds are everywhere. The shade houses are filled with orchids in spike. Beautiful orchids fill the house. It is the season of hope and new beginnings."
"There's a touch of blue sky out there and wind - a cold wet winter's day is in the making. The snowy river wattles are laden with blossom. It won't be too long and the yellow will burst out. So too will the bulbs. Hopes for spring, for the future will burst forth, in a blaze of colour."
"The bulbs should flower in a month or so. The place will be a picture of colour, smell and beauty. All the rockwork and the planting of hundreds of bulbs will come to fruition. The lemon and lime trees are languishing, in need of water and food, a bit like me. I'm in need of nourishment for the brain, food for the soul and solace for the spirit. I wonder how long we will have together."
"Life itself is fluid. You can bathe in it; you can drink it in and be nourished by it; you can float in it but you can never possess it. You can't hold it still and if you could, it wouldn't be life but a mere psychological trick or delusion. Life moves; spring, summer, autumn and winter; day and night; high tide and low tide; birth and death and birth; everything is on the move, even me."
"Where are the songs of spring? Aye, where are they?
Think not of them, - thou has thy music too.
"This is the gentlest season of the year.
From mists of pearl and gold
The slow sweet hours unfold
To crystal colours, still
As a glass, but not so chill.
All birds speak softly in the Autumn bush.
One bellbird from the deep
Like a call heard in sleep
Chimes: in the bronze-gold gloom
Cool greenhood orchids bloom.
This is the kindliest season of the year.
The sun's gold arrows all
Have lost their barbs: thick fall
The berries ripe, and still
The birds may have their fill.
Now peace and plenteousness have spread their wings
After the blessed rains
On Autumn's hills and plains;
We too give thanks and bless
This southland's graciousness."
"Now that spring is no longer to be recognised in blossoms or in new leaves on trees, I must look for it in myself. I feel the ice of myself cracking. I feel myself loosen and flow again, reflecting the world. That is what spring means."
"If you eat from the land, then you connect to it in a profound way. I enjoy being part of that link to the seasons and the identity of the land."
"The heat is searing and superb. The paddocks surrounding the town are bleached blond. The distant ring-barked gums, mile after mile, wriggle in the heat-waves, and seem to melt like the bristles of a melting hairbrush. The hills turn powder-blue and gauzy. Mirages resembling pools of mica and shallows of crystal water appear at the far ends of streets and roads. Punctually at eleven every burning morning, the cicadas begin to drill the air, to drill themselves also, ceaselessly and relentlessly, to death in one short day after seven long years underground."
"Beauty imposes reverence in the Spring,
Grave as the urge within the honeybuds,
It wounds us as we sing.
Beauty is joy that stays not overlong.
Clad in the magic of sincerities,
It rides up in a song.
Beauty imposes chastenings on the heart,
Grave as the birds in last solemnities
Assembling to depart."
"To the native-born Australian the Wattle stands for home, country, kindred, sunshine and love - every instinct that the heart most deeply enshrines... Let Wattle henceforth be a sacred charge to every Australian... Let us rouse our young people's sense of chivalry, and make the Wattle synonymous with Australia's honour. "
"Nowhere in the world does spring announce itself with so lovely a splendour as in Australia... our wattles burst in such passionate profusion of golden blossom as no other country can rival."
"You've got to have a winter, so you know when it's spring."
"The western summer is ruled by the wind. Here the wind is a despot. It rushes off the land before dawn, ploughing out into the sea, full of wheat dust and pollen, crashing at the curtains and rattling every loose sheet of tin, warm and unrelenting. It heats up with the coming of day, an allergenic blast that scorches flat everything in its path."
"On a summer's morning the sea smells of the land and the dunes become airborne. Sand falls far out beyond the smoke of the bushfires to become haze in the water, a puzzlement to fish."