Westgate Park Sunset with reflection for Water H2O Thursday

 

This was taken just before my locum assignment a month ago, when Joel and I returned for a second attempt—chasing the kind of light that makes a place feel briefly enchanted. The air was thick with rye grass, that familiar sting already prickling at Joel’s eyes and, soon enough, at mine. We became reluctant pilgrims, hiding in the car with the windows sealed, watching the world sway in golden dust until the sun softened enough for us to brave it.

When the sunset finally unfurled, it felt like an invitation. The sky melted into tones of peach and ember, and the bridge stood against it like a quiet sentinel. As the light dropped lower, its reflection stretched across the water—long, trembling strokes of fire—so that bridge and sky and river seemed to echo one another in a single, shimmering breath. The water caught every hue, turning the surface into a sheet of warm glass where the silhouette of the bridge repeated itself, darker, deeper, almost more true in its reflection.

For a moment, the allergies, the waiting, the whole month ahead vanished. It was just the two of us, the bridge, and a sunset sinking gently into water—an image worth every second of hiding and every breath held against the grass.

Sony A7RV

FE 70-200mm f4 G

Linking Water H2O Thursday

Flinders Blowhole coast Mornington Peninsula for Water H2O Thursday

 

At Flinders Blowhole, the coast feels ancient and untamed, a place where the continent seems to breathe through its fissures. Along the wild edge of Cape Schanck on the Mornington Peninsula, the sea is never still; it coils and uncoils in restless whirls, slipping into crevices and exploding upward in sudden white plumes. The rocks—dark, jagged, and uncompromising—stand like the exposed bones of the earth, their edges sharp-pointed and raw, shaped by millennia of wind, salt, and ceaseless surf.

In the golden hour, the landscape softens but never surrenders its power. Light pours over the volcanic basalt headlands, catching on each facet as though the cliffs were lit from within. The blowhole itself pulses with the tide, inhaling the ocean’s force and releasing it in rhythmic bursts, as if reciting a story older than language. Shadows lengthen across the headland, and the sky takes on that fleeting hue between fire and dusk—an amber wash that gilds the furious motion of the sea.

Cape Schanck’s natural history is written into every cliff line and cove. Formed from ancient volcanic activity, the peninsula’s southern tip bears the hallmark of its fiery origins: basalt columns, fractured plateaus, and boulders that seem to have been flung into place by some prehistoric force. Over thousands of years, wind and waves carved the coast into its present rugged form, sculpting the blowhole where the sea funnels through a narrow passage and erupts against the stone.

The surrounding scrublands—windswept coastal tea-tree, hardy grasses, and pockets of low heath—cling to the slopes with stubborn resilience. This is a landscape accustomed to extremes: fierce summer heat, winter storms that lash straight from the Southern Ocean, and salt spray that coats every living surface. Sea birds wheel above the cliffs, taking advantage of the updrafts, while beneath them the waves roar against the chasm, grinding stone into sand grain by grain.

To stand here in the last light of day is to witness a meeting of elements in their purest form—rock, sea, and sky in an eternal conversation. Flinders Blowhole at golden hour becomes not just a viewpoint but a living theatre of the Mornington Peninsula’s deep natural history, lit briefly in gold before surrendering to the blue hush of evening.

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Water H2O Thursday

Gin distillery in Sorrento Mornington Peninsula for Mural Monday

 

A few months ago, Joel and I visited a small gin distillery, its car park walls enlivened by whimsical cartoons that caught the eye before one even reached the doorway. I took those photographs almost instinctively—quick reflexes, a moment of colour and charm preserved without a second thought—only to let them slip into the quiet darkness of my hard drive, forgotten until now.

In the time since that visit, life unfolded in its own peculiar symmetry. I was found to have hypothyroidism; Joel, soon after, was diagnosed with hyperthyroidism. It seems we are friends bound not only by shared history but by parallel passages through unexpected chapters of health—an odd, intimate echo of each other’s burdens.

The distillery itself stood as a testament to the gentle renaissance of the gin industry on the Mornington Peninsula, particularly around Sorrento. What began as a modest coastal curiosity has grown into a craft movement rooted in the region’s crisp maritime air, its wild botanicals, and the quiet patience of makers who treat distillation as both science and art. Sorrento’s small-batch producers draw inspiration from the Peninsula’s salt-breeze gardens, native herbs, and citrus groves, capturing the landscape in each aromatic bottle. Their gins speak of limestone cliffs, shifting tides, and the bright, wind-swept mornings of the coast.

Remembering that day now—the murals, the subtle hum of copper stills, the clean bite of botanicals on the palate—feels like returning to a place where craft, companionship, and circumstance briefly converged. In those moments, before diagnoses and the weight of the months that followed, the world tasted simple, fragrant, and clear.

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Mural Monday

Bridgewater Bay Blairgowrie for Skywatch Friday

 

Winter sunsets often display warmer and more vivid hues than those of summer. This is partly due to the sun being farther from the Earth during the winter months. I find particular enjoyment in photographing sunsets during this season, as Joel and I are then able to visit the local fish and chip shop afterwards, with the sun setting conveniently around five o'clock.

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4

Linking Skywatch Friday