I’m back. It was a matter of push and shove. A note from WordPress that I would disappear if I didn’t write. There was no option.

So here I am, 5 am with weary fingers typing on a weary computer, listening to birdsong with my poodle at my feet. I’ve fed both him and August, the 18 year old cat, and hopefully cleaned his teeth with his chewy toothbrush. The heavy rubbish bins have been rolled to the gate (I try to look unfazed, dressed in my gown at 430am).

I’m not sure what to write about. My ideas lie untidily in boxes in the spare bedroom. No time to leisurely gather thoughts and pen and paper, we have The House on the Market.

A time of crawling on hands and knees, cleaning and vacuuming every waking hour. Tidying. Throwing out. Bringing back boxes from the heap to be trashed (I may need to read through my collection of Country Living magazines one more time).

Apart from the hypervigilance for dust and dirt, I am noticing details of our property for the first time. Or reappreciating them. The honeyeater on the grevillea in front of me. It’s cheerful chirping.

The aroma of the newly watered herb patch. Bruised Basil leaves a heavenly perfume. Together with mashed mint underfoot, quite an aroma.

My poodle has just let out an ear piercing bark in response to the visiting dog next door. All descriptive thoughts have temporarily vanished. This, too, is part of living on an ideal lifestyle block.

I cast my eye to the distant water bowls. Not only do I fill them for Ruffles and August, but also for possums (brush and ringtail), skinks, bobtails and phascogales. The birds take turns splashing in the birdbaths. Unfortunately, larger birds like the currawong empty a bath in one sitting! Then there are the bees. Pebbles in flat containers. The bees must be watered to survive.

We’ve had a few very hot days and I wonder how the indigenous animals survive without water from humans.

Another interruption. August insists on sitting on my lap which means i cant typr. Instant guilt. At 18, every tender moment counts. He walks off in a stiff legged huff.

A gentle breeze has a sprung to life. Slight rumbling from Ruffles at the intermittent spurting sound as the sprinklers warm up for a magnificent display across the laws. Intrusive thoughts of What I need to Do Today interupt my peace. I’ll try to push then aside in order to complete my blog for WordPress. It’s quite nice being forced to complete a project. It feels like a school essay to be completed by Friday. Or Else.

I wonder why I didn’t force myself to sit here at 5am every morning, writing, like a proper writer.

That’s what I’ve been told – writer’s write. I know what they mean. The act of sitting on my veranda and setting myself up between life to write, takes discipline. When I was a paid newspaper columnist, writing came first. So my motivation is money?

Yet, the joy of reflecting (in my large windows right now too!) and striking down my thoughts is wonderfully liberating. I had forgotten what fun it is.

And now, life is getting in the way in the form of increasingly loud barks from Ruffles. Time to take him for his walk. My day must continue but I’ve happily completed a blog. Thanks to WordPress, mission accomplished!