"That one's a goat."

"No, it's a unicorn, can't you see the horn?"

"Not through the bottom of a champagne glass," he idly replied.

I snuggled closer into the crook of his arm and wriggled my bare toes into the soft sand of the riverbank. The sun headed towards the horizon in a blaze of glory, the evening was warm and the champagne was cold.

Banners and rays of gold, red, pink and orange flamed among the small clouds, turning the trees in front of us into blackened skeletons, while the trees behind shone with a borrowed glory. A small sigh of a breeze rustled the leaves in the trees, a prelude to the amazing concert about to unfold for our pleasure.

Over to our left a great flock of lorikeets arrived, arguing and fighting over the best positions in the gum trees prior to settling to roost for the night, and we could hardly make ourselves heard over the noise they made. Two more decibels, and it would have been deafening!

I could see the ripple on the water before me as a fish made his evening rise, but the birds drowned any splash he made.

As the sun sank lower in the glorious sky, the first fruit bats made their appearance, wheeling in an orchestrated melee, and as their numbers increased, their squeaking gradually began to be heard over the noise of the birds.

Champagne forgotten, we took in the magic of the show as if mesmerised, and the last spark of the dying sun was snuffed out behind the trees. Fishing rods lay unheeded in the gathering darkness, and our honeymoon bed beckoned unnoticed in our tent.

Who needed fancy hotels when nature herself put on such displays for our delight?

"Well, if that's what the sunsets are like up here," said my darling, ruffling my hair with his free hand "I can't wait to see a sunrise!"

© Sandy Parkinson 2000 Word count 329