Lachlan Marnoch, 2011
Spearshafts of light punch a hole through the cloud, and below a wisp shines a new orange. Then the sun emerges from its vaporous womb, flooding the sky with brilliance. The hunters of night and day watch with us, shuffling atop rocks and soaring above. Their sombre calls break twilight's silence. The skyline blends from blinding light to pink-yellow, then into tinges of grey where wispy tendrils reach from above, blown sideways to resemble grass in a breeze. Opposite the shining ball is the funeral veil of distant rainfall. Still the sun sinks, its golden orange barred from the blue above by a ring of city-grey. As it falls past the horizon, it dims, leaving a final candlelight gasp. The pink recedes. Light falls away. Darkness takes its place. The winter-white lord of night watches triumphant from behind a curtain of whispers.