The City In Which I Live

Today, I got up at 4.45. Bleary eyed, confused and very tired, I dragged myself out of bed and towards the instant coffee. From there to the bus to the train to Kings Wharf and a beautiful darkness.
I found my place amongst the glowing screen of Android phones that signify Google+ users. I made a friend. And we waiting to get on a boat.

The sun rose, cameras and phones flashing trying to capture the colour changes of the morning. Eyes straining to remain open before anyone else in Sydney contemplated waking. The sky turned from black to dark blue, to all shades of a pastel rainbow to a foggy blue. And then came perfection. A bright, clear blue that only happens under an Australian sky. Whisps of white dragging themselves through, just as white of milk pours into a freshly brewed cappuccino, blurring the lines between sky and cloud, coffee and milk.

The sun glowed to the East. The bridge was illuminated in Autumn wonder. The Opera House was fresh its musical glory, the speckles of white flecking the water as if notes of some great composition. Sydney was alive. It no longer mattered that we were tired.

I am a water baby. Floating upon a harbour, anchored by my sea feet. The earth warming me with its smile.

We saw Cockatoo Island. We danced in puddles. We rejoiced in a love of natural and built beauty.
This is the city in which I live.

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