The air at five p.m. is certainly fresh, but not bitter. No need for any extra adornment of hat, gloves or scarf. I head for the inlet where the tide is out, the mud and puddles touched-up with the mild pinks and apricots of a winter sunset. Headlights from the string of homeward-bound traffic, form smudgy reflections in the still water. A few black-backed gulls feed from the darkening water.
The air is smoky, the ponderous clouds bottom-heavy, then thinning out at the top to stream away into tender, fragile edges of creamy silver. The water of the inlet reflects this last, quiet, low-key act of today's sky.
A eucalyptus tree vies with the clouds and sky for room. For reflection. Other people also out walking, slip past like shadows. Some shadows say 'Hello', some remain voiceless. Some walk dogs. It is almost dark. I head home