I got here after walking the Tilligerry Nature Walk, where the path wound through bushland and then suddenly opened to the estuary. The track skirted the shoreline, and there it was—spread wide before me, the tide pulled back like a stage curtain.
What a scene to feast my eyes on. Long stretches of wet, glistening sand shimmered in the sunlight, each ripple catching the light like glass. The trees edged the exposed flats, their roots half-buried, reaching into the mud as if they too were holding on to the tide. The sun was full in my face, warm and unrelenting, but I didn’t care. It seemed to sharpen everything—the brightness of the sand, the shimmer of the water left in shallow pools, the dark silhouettes of birds scattered across the flats.
For a while I just stood there, taking it in. It wasn’t just a view; it was a feeling—of stillness, of openness, of being caught between the forest at my back and the wide estuary breathing in front of me.
Journeys From A Small Room 