Sunday morning. That in-between time when the world hasn’t quite woken up, and everything feels a little softer. I found myself down by the waterfront in Geelong, camera in hand, chasing that first light.
The sun was just beginning to lift itself over the horizon, casting a golden wash across the bay. There’s something about that light—how it touches everything gently, like it’s asking permission to begin the day. The pier stretched out ahead of me, its weathered timber glowing in the warmth, and a lone lamp post stood quietly, as if keeping watch.
The water was still. Not perfectly still, but still enough to hold the sun’s reflection like a secret. Sailboats lined the background, their masts forming a delicate rhythm against the sky. It felt like the world was holding its breath.
I didn’t go there with a plan. I just wanted to see what the morning had to say. And this—this was it. A moment of quiet, of promise, of everything yet to come.
Sometimes, the best stories are the ones that whisper.
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