Off-shore breeze : Seaholme

There is something wraithlike about a beach let with the month of June. It is often quiet, the colourful bathing crowds of balmy February with its ochre winds from the Outback long gone. And, before this still, the impatient, spring-riot lengthening days of October, heavy with its spectrum of light plundering at the western horizon.

But a beach-June knows its wintered truth is never far away. For mostly it reveals little in its uncovered sands rarely impeached by feet ending their imprints into its shallows. Though, at low tide, you can witness the mighty pull of Sun and Moon, as if unravelling the brine from its grained clutch and briefly showing its secret dramas in the tide-wash rocks and temporary pools.

I was near Seaholme (a bayside suburb of Melbourne, a handful of kilometres as the Crow flies, from the centre of Melbourne) having caught up with a good friend I'd not seen in ages. We talked and laughed, at ease in good company without fuss or wariness. Afterward, become this exploration along a familiar vista that never tires in my eyes, a sort of seasonal late afternoon matins where minutes drift into hours, as they have done for years.

Today, along the sand riband there were adagio sounds, opposed of wintry rage. No howling distemper or smack of rain. No grey clouds that hinted at mischief. No rip of marine across irked breakers or chisel of flung sand. Just composure, a mercy of the season except for the gentle cast of an off-shore breeze that merely dappled the low-tide's glaze. Distantly, from the extended shoreline, you could glimpse boats dipping for a day's sporty catch and the occasional Ship, heavy with commerce, plying with courtesy towards the Docks. You could hear the coodle-warble of Magpies (those fearless larrikins of flight) for them it is always spring. And there, drowsy in the calm of a cigarette's haze, a familiar sight, old Mick (his last name a mystery to all) drawing on a 'rolly', his Horse racing 'form guide' scrunched near his feet cobbled by scruffy leathers.

This June shimmer appeared in order, as I unfolded my tripod and clipped the camera atop. Dutiful exposures were taken, unquestioning the meter except to dabble with aperture priority. Flipping my thumb on the exposure compensation dial I added 2 stops - a show of photographic perjury - slow the shutter speed, see what happens, mirror the day's mood. Photo attached!