Today’s walk involved lead grey sails
and lead grey skies.
My companions declined a scramble down a muddy place; assisted by dangling tree roots, I went ahead to the shingle squeezed between the tide and the sliding cliff.
I could not leave my friends standing in the chill wind for long, but had a brief Stevie Smith moment:
It is always early morning here on this peculiar island
The green grass grows into the sea on the dipping land …
… in this early morning land I always wear my hat
Go home, you see, well I wouldn’t run a risk like that.