The sun is setting.
One can hear the surf as it rolls in where whalers used to enter.
The ancient smells still hang in the air, as they must have years ago.
The bush is dense, barely allowing a body to penetrate it.
The cry of the shore birds, as they prepare to nestle down.
The soft lap of the water, as the tide creeps into the bay.
All is at peace, we walk back down the wooden steps,
....................and into the waiting twilight.