The high cliffs of Cornwall, dressed in gorse, dipping down with sudden thoughtlessness to coves of sandy beaches are the perfect places to ‘find out’. Here with the wind in your hair and the sea in your eyes you learn the power of nature. And looking out towards the continents of Europe or America depending upon which coastline you are on, you see nothing but your own infinitesimal smallness.
And walking those coves you find that sailors are dirty people who throw everything off their clean boats and ships to be washed ashore in a softened form and occasionally you find the sea herself throws up her children and leaves them to rot beneath a cheerless, grey sky.
And across the rocks you find your muscles and your blood, you find reason and question as you see the crabs scuttle and touch the mussel shells and salty, stinking seaweed which somehow delves deep into your mind as if touching your ancestors or reminding you that here is the mother of DNA.
And somehow you are filled with the sea and the cliffs. Your body heat becomes their moments and your moments become their possession. You adorn their existence.
And words are born.
You make it real. Thank you 🙂
thank you:)