APRIL 2020
Shadows from the trees lay cool kisses against my skin as I wander through the natural woodland tunnel. A deep lungful of breath tastes of the forest mulch. Rich, earthy and pungent.
The winter light is piercingly clear. No more the warm, salty haze of ocean mist and summer baking sun. Crystalline fractures of the suns rays cut like shards in my eyes.
The bustle has gone. Relief finally from the crowd. The temporary walkers don’t know this place but some other and scour its surface like foreign soil. Their feet barely touching the ground. Like pond skaters they skim the surface, moving through quickly. Quickly. Move move. Raise the pulse. Breathe the air. Tick the box and so be done. I hope you brought your map.
But now. Silence again. The earth breathes. It sighs with relief and bursts open its long grassy fingers and sings in chorus’s of bird song. Shhhhh. Listen.
A distant car sounds from the horizon. But it can not come here. Instead the rolling sound of the waves from the cliffs below swallow it away and out to sea.
The towering descent of the headland holds the sound of water like the rhythm from inside a conch shell held to the ear. This could be Cornwall. The gulls look like kittiwakes. But they’re not.
I wish Dad was here. Sat with me looking over at this long, prehistoric coastline. Greens and blues and whites and browns. If he was, we would sit and have a picnic. A flask of tea and some cheese and pickle sandwiches. Feast of the Gods. And then we’d walk the long walk home. Sometimes stopping to look at the sky. Assess the potential for a rare find. And then move on again. Everything in its rightful time and place. And so I was here and was also everywhere.
