6. Nudgee Wetlands

On the muddy sandflats a blanket of wind presses on your ears, encasing your senses almost entirely. Underneath that incessant distortion, a torrent of perpetual motion lurks; wave after wave creeping their way back towards the bay like a fading horizon. It is becoming low tide.

Paths of horses, dogs and people are tracible, indents marked across the rippling tracts of sand, which are adorned with delicate sand spheres rolled with a skilfulness beyond compare. Leaning towards these miniature sand sculptures, tiny scratching, like sandpaper on wet wood, is heard. The sculpturers, Sand Bubbler Crabs, continue churning ball after tiny ball of sand, an action of the most profound sonic fragility.

Far off, a Whimbrel calls sharply, a lyrical celebration of another winter avoided in the north. From the shore Galahs begin to gather, calling from flock to flock. Blackened clouds gather like an ink blot, obscuring the falling sun, the storm front mirrors the contours of the sandbars.

Behind the flats, waterways spill out into a maze of connections amidst mangrove forests. Tiny ripples of water collide with the shore as the tide turns and begins to amble inland. The trickles quickly become more pronounced as the tide starts to rush in. A Bittern glides close to the water’s surface, and mullet splash their body on the surface of the water like aquatic silver ghosts presenting momentarily in our reality before falling back into their own. The ocean and the sky become the same colour. They curve into one another; the horizon is lost.

– Lawrence English