Not long ago I caught one of Sydney’s iconic ferries to Manly Beach.
The journey there was beautiful; blue skies and sun warmed wooden benches on boat’s bow.
An afternoon passed on the beach, lying still, watching all.
Here the clouds inched over, high above in a non-threatening gesture that spelled to beach-goers “we’re here to delight, not rain on your charade.”
This movement overhead geared towards something brilliant; as temperature was cooling, the sky was only warming up.
Swooping birds bore down on a boardwalk stretch beyond a gargling bay, as I boarded one last ferry, green and yellow floating in wait.
If a silence is golden then the girl standing one deck above me was glowing in rays. Though temptation of ten thousand cameras around us preserved through the pixels and lens, her and I were were the contrast that both used our eyes instead to remember the scene.
With a static air that charged the very nature of my being, and a place to stand on benches looking out across the bay, waning sun was melting down toward the landscape of the city, and it felt to me as though the time stood still in a timeless way.