nocturnalist

Current favourite memory, from last week.

Standing on the jetty at a little coastal town halfway across the continent from where I live. Dusk, ocean, wind, water against the pilings. Not another living soul in sight, not even birds. Lights from the shipping terminal on the opposite headland behind me, the sky to the northwest washed all in orange and fading fast. Giant rainclouds stacked in the sky to the south at the opening of the bay: the thick grey columns of rain that almost look like they're holding them up are the only thing in that direction between me and Antarctica. The whole scene for three hundred and sixty degrees around is painted in gradually darkening greys as the sun sets behind the overcast. The tiny little fibro houses huddled along the road at the start of the jetty are dark, or have a little yellow light burning in one room. They seem to set off the great yawning emptiness of the ocean and desert instead of counteracting it.

Beautiful. And yes, damn right I'm going to go back there and stand on that jetty again. Soon as I can.