As I lie in bed listening to sprinkling rain falling outside, it occurs to me that there’s perhaps no other sound that makes me feel quite so happy. And yet there’s countless gloomy songs about sad rainy days. Not here in the desert. The pattering sound calms me.  The fresh smell invigorates me, opens my pores, makes me want to breathe it all in.

There are songs to wake up a lethargic group, songs to calm and settle scattered energies, songs for grounding, songs as medicine in times of grief and loss, songs of joy and celebrating new beginnings. I’ve come to realise that Colour My Sky is a balm for those times when I’m feeling stripped bare

Moving beyond the playful and experimental nature of this process alone, the lyrics speak to picking yourself up and keeping on going no matter how lost you might feel at times. And to always, always, keep singing!

I soon realised that I wanted to write a song for kids living here, in the red centre of Australia, with the unique, incredible wildlife that is at our doorstep. And so I replaced elephant calves with spinifex hopping mice and zebra foals with zebra finches.

I took part in a fun global initiative called ‘my song is your song’ in which musicians from different parts of the world were paired and asked to interpret their partner’s song.

This week I’m taking a little detour from my usual sharing of a new song. Last weekend I travelled to Mary River to take part in the Top Half Folk Festival and I wanted to share some of my highlights.

Sea Symphony is a sea shanty of sorts, a celebration of the adventures we go on with loved ones when all you need is your dress, a boat, and a kite.

It was one of those blustery days in Melbourne, the wind surprisingly sharp to the bone and curtains of rain that sprayed sideways unexpectedly across an otherwise sunny sky. I had moved down here from the desert less than a year ago and I still felt a stranger to this city of drab grey buildings rising up into the sky - their corridors stretching on in angled lines in all directions.

Living in a small town in the centre of Australia I sometimes forget that our everyday outlook is very different to many others on this planet. My life is very domesticated in many ways, living in an affluent country, but there’s still an edge to the lifestyle here that reminds us that we’re never too far removed from the wild.

I wrote this song when I was struggling with this feeling of being stuck in the daily grind. I was feeling bored with myself, wanting to somehow break free of my routine, and yearning for a creative outlet.

I first started writing the lyrics for this song in the year after my Dad passed away.

There’s a high fire danger, as the sky dissolves to red, an eerie filter on the world.

At the end of last year a lot of storms came sweeping through our surrounds and it seemed like rainbow after rainbow filled the skies.

Walking my dog Dusty through the scrub behind our house I am struck by how quiet it can be at 9am on a weekday. The only sounds I can hear is the rather loud drumming of grasshoppers and the sound of Dusty panting after careening through the tall buffel grass.

Let it be quiet is a meditation of sorts, a mantra on finding a womb-like place in which to unravel and be wrapped and held by a deep dark quiet when it’s time to reset and recharge – mentally, physically, spiritually, or creatively.

The blue wide open sky stretched out over golden, prosperous plains of grain and wheat fields. Sunflowers as a symbol of resistance, unity and hope. A Stork from Ukrainian folklore, a protector bringing peace. The vibrant imagery of hope and resilience struck me.

The making of this song started with a fun chord progression on the ukulele. Sliding bar chords up and down the neck of the small stringed instrument, I liked the high timbre ringing out, conjuring waves of a pacific lullaby in its steady pattern up and down.

Standing atop this hill, looking out, a part of me lands and is anchored both inwards and outwards simultaneously. I remember that I am a part of something larger, a bigger whole, both important and unimportant at the same time.

When I wrote the snail song I started by remembering that feeling of a weight lifting and new beginnings starting to unfurl. Then what came as the song took form was a love song, perhaps of finding strength and courage in one’s self as opposed to meeting another person.

There are indeed big troubles we carry and try to navigate, but if we get weighed down by them to the point of caving in, then how do we stand up to fight them? I wrote these little troubles back in 2012 and diving back into the song now it feels like a euphemistic way to make light of some of the heavy load we all carry in our lives.