Thursday 7th June

I’ve never been a morning person, but now each second counts before my vision goes dark. I will cherish the time captured this morning forever. I grab my phone out and press record.

The night sky humbly says goodnight as the last stars dim their sparkle. Kookaburras cry out in boisterous laughter. Nature’s alarm of a new day. A hazy glow peeks across the horizon—muted hues of purple and pink bleed into scattered clouds. A watercolour painting comes to life. The air is crisp and nips at my nose. I shiver, and I'm glad I wore my puffy jacket; it feels like a warm hug. Looking towards the gum trees, I observe as their motion soothes. The leaves sway and dance in the breeze—pure magic.

During this brief reprieve, I sigh and let myself soak it all in. How many of these mornings do I have left? Too few. Never enough.

Taking my coffee and Danish, I settle in to watch the sun climb higher. It glistens over the placid ocean, and magpies chortle a sweet melody nearby. The coffee warms my hands while its aroma stirs my senses awake. The pastry crackles, and my taste buds ignite as I bite into the apple Danish. A burst of tangy apple and sweet icing melts on my tongue.

Even now, as I record this entry, I’m salivating.

My goal is to capture every detail and memory while my sight still allows. It hasn’t been easy. The shadows creep closer daily, but I remind myself to find beauty in the broken pieces and to take back what I can control.

Here in this audio diary, my voice is a small triumph. When my sight finally slips away, I’ll return here—Danish and coffee in hand—and listen. A moment frozen in time. Ready to live again and again.