Walking at dawn, the deep rumbling of traffic in the distance was actually breakers surging onto the rocky shores and sandy beaches, birds calling, kangaroos surprised at the presence of an interloper in the midst of their dawn grazing.
Pushing through scrub to reach the end of the Point, rejoicing with the young casuarinas reclaiming land once a car park, drawn by the sea to the very edge of the rocks, hazy and soft in dull morning light.
Signs speak of humanity, the love fishermen have of remote dangerous rocks, the life preserver a reminder of the lives lost for the thrill of the catch. Grasses barely moving in the breeze, soft swishing as a sea eagle flies overhead, no thermal to help her up.
Looking this way wilderness wins out, the sea endlessly pushing into these cliffs, creating channels where huge swells rise and fall, a game for the young and foolish to leap in and land on the fullness of the swell. Memories of snorkelling through the channels one summer, flowing forwards and back with the kelp as the sea flushed in and out. So delightful I can laugh about it even now.
Back through the bushland, disturbing birds and roos as I walked, ocean whispering sweetly now, meditating, earth caressing my feet. Banksia flowers rich with nectar attracting honeyeaters.
Past our beach and the lagoon, gulls crying on the beach, feasting amongst strewn kelp, everything silver grey. A fish leaping in the lagoon, small birds scattering, a breath of salty air.
Thoughts of the day ahead returning as my feet took the path home, until distracted at the last moment by roos grazing, they watch too, seeing someone familiar, and return to their feed.
Through the garden gate, wash my feet under the tap, home in time for breakfast.