Edge of the Season

On the northwest coast of Tasmania, my body senses autumn’s arrival before I can name it. The sun dips lower, the air grows sharp and clear, and the ocean’s horizon, becomes an edge, almost too vivid to touch. The water shifts with quiet insistence, its iridescent blue moving gently at high tide, as if pretending stillness. I watch the surface swell with patterns, dots and dashes, anchored in stillness, yet beneath them, a constant, heaving pulse. The landscape feels familiar, a place I’ve visited in countless autumns past, where time folds back upon itself.