The Misty Morning by Rosie Moorhouse
10-12yo Category Winner
I run as fast as my feet can carry me through the scrub that I call my backyard. I can’t miss it. I just can’t. I woke up at 5:45 in the morning just for this. I’m dressed in the warmest clothes I can find – my ski jacket, jeans, beanie, face warmer, fuzzy socks and boots.
As I run through the bushes I feel the tips of the cold leaves brush my jacket. I can hear the birds waking up and the kookaburras laughing at me as I run through the cold misty air.
I stop suddenly as I hear a rustling in the bush. I slowly creep over to the bush and silently watch. A kangaroo is feeding its joey. I smile. The joey’s shaky legs gently hop into its Mothers toasty pouch. I’ll tell Mum to look out for him, I think to myself. I slowly stand up. “Bye, Bye” I whisper walking off.
I unclip the gate and run into the mist where the sheep are running away with their lambs at their side. Then I see a lamb sitting by itself, shivering. I gasp. I take a step towards it and as soon as I do its mother comes rushing over. Phew! I think. False alarm, the mother is nearby and healthy. I stand there watching the lamb furiously sucking its Mum’s udder. Suddenly a cool breeze hits my face. I look down at my Fitbit. 5:55. I better get moving. I take one last look at the lamb and start off again.
I jump over the next fence and into the scrub again. The leaves crunch under my feet as I turn a sharp corner. Out of the corner of my eye see a little fluff ball which makes me stop. I look down and see a baby magpie. But it can’t fly. I stand there wondering what to do. I decide to look for a nest and find its mother. I lift my head and see a magpie coming down, it knocks me off my feet. My head lands in a mixture of cold, damp leaves and wet soggy bark. My hand automatically clutches my pocket hoping it was safe. I had been swooped. I slowly close my eyelids and enjoy the sounds of chirping birds and the not so nice screeching cockatoos which makes me get up. I look down at my Fitbit. 5:58!
I start running as fast as I can. I hear the leaves whistle in the wind as I reach the edge of a hill. I climb the steep rocks to reach the top. I look around. I had done all the research. It would rise at 6:02 on the third of the month; I would capture the mist in the photo.
Then I spy it. It is beautiful. The sun, with the background of the pink sky, surrounded by mist and the silhouette of the cattle and gum trees. It looks absolutely spectactular.
I had done it. I had taken the best sunrise photo ever.