Where I now live, a footpath runs atop the crumbling cliffs, down to a harbour called Charlestown. The bushes, tress and other undergrowth that line the way quite literally knit the path together. From beneath, on the beach, one may see the rock, how perilous and sheer it hollows, yet how solidly nature bears its upper lip.
It is here, upon a sunny morn, that I like to sit upon the empty pebble beach, listen to the waves and read Shakespeare.
The harbour shows little sign of activity. Were it not for shiny new holiday cars and well kept holiday lets, one would think the decay to signify two hundred years or more of idle neglect. Yet there sits there, currently at least, a tall ship.
Over the way, across from the rusting relics of ancient industry, is an inn. Therebeyond the land snakes round to make a perfect bay, bearing paths which I am yet to explore, but as the cold sets in hence, I shall make it my Autumn endeavour.
The sea was perfectly flat today. No chops, no waves but gentle lappings at the pebbles and the harbour walls. Upon the cobs were fishermen, casting tackle in the crisp morning air, whilst a fishing boat quietly enjoyed the still freedom of the bay.
From all the turbulence I left behind, this felt like deliverance. The sun, the sea, the shakespeare by my side. I was free, nothing and no-one could possibly trouble me. Yet at points my mind did stray back, from a thing pleasant to contemplate to the one impossible to forget. I wished to share it with you; here it is.
Photographs by Ian O'Neal, 300811
This reminds me of why it is so wonderful to live by the sea. There were times in St Andrews when the sea would be so still it seemed almost more like a lake, though silvered in a way that you only really see on that stretch of coast -- other times when the natural pools in the rock disrupted more turbulent water, occasionally affording a glimpse of the reflected moon -- and still other times when a disturbance on the surface stretched out to the horizon and powerfully reminded me of that Anglo-Saxon word for the sea -- hwalweg, if I remember correctly -- "whale's path".
ReplyDeleteI haven't visited Cornwall for years, but you captured the character of those beaches beautifully for me. And autumn is the best time to explore seaside paths -- something about that palpable shift of the seasons is sharpened by the sea air. And there is a certain richness in the declining year. Or maybe Ezra Pound is right about us, and our "ear for the sea surge".