The coastline at Cleveland lay thick with mangroves, their tangled roots gripping the tidal flats like quiet sentinels of the bay. Here, along the edges of Moreton Bay, the water retreats to reveal a labyrinth of mud and root, where fiddler crabs scatter and the air carries that briny, earthy scent unique to mangrove shores. Each step was accompanied by the crisp, satisfying snap beneathfoot—a rhythm of salt, driftwood, and hidden life—echoing softly through the stillness. I found myself lingering, not just to see, but to listen, to absorb the subtle music of this tidal world.
Lately, the news speaks of a shifting tide of its own—people turning their gaze toward Brisbane, drawn by promise and possibility, favoring it now over Melbourne. I can understand the appeal, the pull of warmth and growth. And yet, for all its allure, the air there hangs heavy, thick with humidity, the tropical breath clinging to skin and thought alike. It is a climate that presses close, too close—where mangroves flourish and the coastline thrives, but comfort quietly recedes beneath the weight of the heat.
Sony A7RV
FE 20-70mm f4 G
Linking Water H2O Thursday
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