Through the crystal-clear waters, I see tufts of seaweed bobbing about between rippled sand, like tufts of hair on an old man’s head. Seagulls and bigger birds of prey flitter overhead.
The Dromana Pier looks more old-time-wood-and-steel than brutalist in its construction. Yet it is concrete.
I wander along, soft waves lapping at its pillars, distant chattering of picnicking families on the shore. My peripherals reveal sweeping shores lined with bathing boxes of all colours. Both unique and uniform. Grounded in the burnt yellow sand.
I see a woman pointing near the shore line. I see two fins zipping along, criss-crossing through the water, making their own whitecaps. Sharks, I think. A second later, I’m hit by a calm realisation. They’re dolphins.
With unimaginable speed and agility, they fly through the water like a set of knives working in unison. As quickly as they came, they have gone.
I keep a lookout for them, peering deep into the water and along the shore. But they don’t return. I’m left with the tufts of seaweed and fading yellow glow of the sun in the distance.