There’s something magical about the way the ocean and sky meet at sunset. The clouds, painted in soft shades of pink, drift lazily above the horizon while the waves keep their steady rhythm.

From the platform at Circular Quay, the city feels alive. The ferries move across the harbour, the skyline glows in the late sun, and just beyond the station frame sits the unmistakable sails of the Opera House.

I didn’t expect to find a rainbow that day. The sky was heavy, the waves were calm, and the cliffside seemed like it had seen a thousand storms. But there it was—quiet, fleeting, and impossibly soft against the strength of the sea and stone.

There’s something magical about catching a moment like this—where a simple stone tower, silhouetted against the fading warmth of the sun, becomes a portal to another time. I snapped this photo through a small frame, and it reminded me how often beauty reveals itself when we shift our perspective just a little.

Some evenings, the sky decides to put on a show — not for the crowds, not for the cameras — just for anyone who happens to be paying attention.