The bay looks beautiful today. Like glass in places stretching out like silk to larger sections that are ruffled, further out. The Brighton jetty is floating on nothing, suspended in shiny, flat nothing. Williamstown is too, like it is a shiny embryo floating a new. The light is still brittle, the shadows are long, stretching way out to the promise of greater things. The light is golden with the hint of something brighter. There is a cargo ship gliding away, orange sun is reflected brightly on its side, as it slips across the water with no visible means of propulsion.
The sun shines across the city in sideways slants, taking the very tips of the buildings and laying them stretched out on the ground, like shadowy cathedrals, drawn out like animation. It’s like the light has been on in a farther room much longer. The promise of greatness lays there stretched out before me.
3pm
The bay now looks like a Monet painting, the boats are lost in the haze of the day; smudgy, fuzzy, hidden in the mist, like a blue veil has been drawn across the sky and the sea. The bay looks like the most beautiful abstract blue cave. You could be lost in it for ever and never fear for your life. Like Mother Nature rubbed her thumb across it, sometime around lunch time. The bay is a great master, changing brush-stroke styles, sometimes on the hour.
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