The harbour glows with restless colour, where water becomes a mirror for the sky’s wandering moods. Sails rise like folded flames—roses and rusts catching the last warmth of day—while darker masts stand in quiet contrast, thin lines of patience against the open air. The sky moves in broad, urgent strokes, layered with lilac, blue, and gold, as if weather itself were being remembered rather than observed.
Reflections loosen on the surface below, trembling into soft blues and greens, refusing exactness. Small boats drift without hurry, their presence intimate against the wider breath of the harbour. Shoreline structures fade into suggestion, softened by distance and light, belonging as much to water as to land. Everything here feels in motion yet deeply anchored, suspended between labour and rest. This is not a moment captured, but a feeling held—of tides easing, colours settling, and the quiet agreement between sky and sea to linger just a little longer before night takes over.
Port Macquarie