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Nothing like a friend of more than thirty years to coax me out at daybreak. I drive cautiously along the Potato Point road in the pre-dawn light to avoid macropods, and meet Sarah beside the lake, near the boatshed that used to be her home and is now an Airbnb rental. She’s waiting for me with her dog Penny (you can play “spot the dog” if you like) in an unexpected chill that requires jacket and scarf.

We walk across the grass to the squelchy sand interlaced with dried sea grass that runs along the side of the lake. Everything is encrusted with barnacles, pink in the early light. The water suddenly breaks windripple into splash, as a school of fish leap and fall. The rising sun blazes along the edge of the bank of cloud and sends elegant thin shadows across the sand. Soon the early light catches the trees and makes it clear why early morning is called the golden hour.

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