Easter Sunday, 5:30am. The Twelve Apostles viewing area is tourist central, so I'd set the alarm early to avoid the crowds. Only a few kindred spirits had the same idea.

The sky couldn't make up its mind. Warm orange from the left, cold bruised grey on the right, those ancient stacks standing unmoved beneath it all. They've weathered twenty million years of Southern Ocean. A turbulent dawn was nothing new to them.

I was the newest member of that congregation, watching the sky argue with itself while the Apostles stood there, ancient and indifferent, slowly losing their battle with the sea.