As we glided into the harbour, the sun slinked down behind the Sydney Harbour Bridge, tinging the sky a burnt tangerine orange. The Australian I was talking to smiled as I pulled out my camera.
‘I’ve been here twenty years and it never gets old.’
The sand’s heat has relaxed through the long afternoon, and a faint sliver of a moon has made its way over the trees, wriggling in between the stars. The bonfire has slow-burned through the night, down to embers, and our bellies are full when the three of us venture out into the dunes. Flip-flops are abandoned in the dark. Matt carries a Tupperware of cool white wine as our feet sink, silent, into liquid white sand.