Morning walk to the Cove:
Thick, lush wet grass, beaded with silver drops of rain, dotted with shrubs and brambles. The remnants of a fence- now a single metal wire coddled in places with a ragged bundle of sheep’s wool – stands as a small boundary before the expanse of ocean ahead of me.
Treading through the long, wet grass – feet becoming wetter and wetter, and noticing with mild repulsion – the occasional coiled shiny black body of a slug.
Reaching the rocky cove, I head over to the rocks lining the shore. Reddy brown, bulbous sea urchins cling to the rocks surrounding me, as do the shells of barnacles and sea snails.
The seaweed lies, in masses, just below the surface – colouring the glassy water with red and green and moving gently, rhythmically with the tide – like a dance. Softly splaying, extending fully – before recoiling silently with elegant grace.
