At Balnarring Beach, the tide recently retreated farther than it does for most of the year, unveiling a hidden landscape that usually lies beneath restless water. What emerged was not smooth sand or gentle shoreline, but a rugged seabed — a terrain of sharp, ancient stones scattered like broken bones of the ocean. Dark rocks, slick with salt and time, carried the weight of countless tides that had passed unnoticed above them.
Sea plants and tangled weeds draped themselves over the jagged surfaces, softening the harsh edges with wavering greens and browns. Some clung stubbornly to crevices, their fronds trembling in the wind now that the sea had momentarily abandoned them. Others lay sprawled across the rocks like forgotten ribbons, glistening under a thin sheen of trapped water.
Walking across this exposed floor felt like trespassing into a private world — one that belongs to currents, shells, and silent creatures rather than human feet. The air carried a thick, briny scent, and every step revealed textures rarely seen: rough, slippery, alive with hidden movement. For a brief moment between tides, the ocean’s secret architecture was laid bare — raw, untamed, and quietly beautiful, reminding us that beneath the familiar waves lies a harsher, more intricate world waiting patiently to be covered again.
Sony A7RV
FE 20-70mm f4 G
Linking Sunday Best
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