CABRAMURRA GLOW
As the sun fell behind the ranges, the gums of Cabramurra caught fire — not with flame, but with light. That golden kind of light that brushes gently across bark and leaf, like a lover saying goodbye.
The snow gums stood like dancers in stillness, their trunks twisted by time, pale and smooth — their branches raised not in defiance, but in surrender. The air held a chill, but the colours were warm: honey, rose, and the faintest touch of violet dusting the edge of the sky.
I moved quietly between them, camera in hand, not wanting to disturb the hush. Every photograph felt like a slow breath. The light was fleeting — it always is — but the feeling stayed with me. That sense of being small, held inside something vast, ancient, and utterly beautiful.
In that hour between day and night, the forest didn’t darken. It softened. And in that softness, I found something tender — a kind of peace only the high country knows.
Sunset over Cabramurra is not something you capture. It’s something you carry.
As the sun fell behind the ranges, the gums of Cabramurra caught fire — not with flame, but with light. That golden kind of light that brushes gently across bark and leaf, like a lover saying goodbye.
The snow gums stood like dancers in stillness, their trunks twisted by time, pale and smooth — their branches raised not in defiance, but in surrender. The air held a chill, but the colours were warm: honey, rose, and the faintest touch of violet dusting the edge of the sky.
I moved quietly between them, camera in hand, not wanting to disturb the hush. Every photograph felt like a slow breath. The light was fleeting — it always is — but the feeling stayed with me. That sense of being small, held inside something vast, ancient, and utterly beautiful.
In that hour between day and night, the forest didn’t darken. It softened. And in that softness, I found something tender — a kind of peace only the high country knows.
Sunset over Cabramurra is not something you capture. It’s something you carry.