It is mid-morning, early spring. The Sun’s gentle warmth caresses my skin as I settle into a quiet, shady spot on a bench. From my bag, I take out my watercolour pad, pencils, jar of water, and brush, arranging them beside me. Sketching and painting here has become a cherished routine since I discovered The Garden: a tranquil oasis of native flora hidden behind the bustle of shops and offices in a busy urban suburb.

This 3.3-hectare haven, transformed from an old sandstone quarry over fifty years ago, now flourishes under the care of dedicated volunteers. I am proud to count myself among them.

I love all native flora—the eucalypts, acacias, grevilleas, the delicate flannel flowers, and the many varieties of ferns. But my favourite is the Weeping Bottlebrush (Callistemon viminalis), a hardy, graceful tree that explodes with vibrant red brush-like flowers in spring, attracting birds from far and wide. One stands before me now, and today it will be the centrepiece of my artistic endeavour. If I’m pleased with the result, I plan to frame the painting and create greeting cards from it.

I begin by roughing out the composition in pencil, experimenting with layouts for aesthetic appeal. Gradually, I sketch the slender light-green leaves with watercolour pencils, layering greens for a realistic effect. Once I add the crimson brush flowers, I’ll use water to bring the scene to life. Today, however, my pace quickens—there’s an urgent matter to discuss with a fellow volunteer, who is meeting me here soon.

“Hey, that’s already looking good,” a familiar voice calls from behind. My colleague appears, holding a thermos. “I brought us some coffee,” she adds, pouring two cups and handing me one.

Our casual meeting masks the importance of our conversation. We need to strategise against a proposed multi-story residential development before the Council—one that could block most of the sunlight from The Garden. While increasing urban density addresses housing shortages, it threatens sanctuaries like ours. This isn’t just about preserving greenery; it’s about protecting the wildlife that depends on these spaces and maintaining a balance in urban ecosystems.

“The demonstration outside the Council Chambers the other day was a success,” she begins. “The local paper gave it excellent coverage, and it drew some much-needed attention. Our submission and petition are now with the Council, but we need to do more. It’s shocking how many locals don’t even know The Garden exists.”

“What if we host an Open Day?” I suggest, after mulling it over. “Invite the Councillors and other local dignitaries, make it a community event. I could curate an exhibition of my sketches and paintings to auction off, raising funds to support our campaign.”

Her eyes light up. “That’s a fantastic idea! I’ll call an urgent meeting for Saturday so we can get started.” She springs up and heads for the car park. “See you then!”

“See you,” I call after her.

Looking back at my painting-in-progress, I feel a renewed sense of purpose. Finishing this watercolour isn’t just about artistic fulfillment anymore—it’s about contributing to a cause close to my heart.