Beside the steep, rough pathway to the headland
blackberries are purpling. As we pass,
stone chats – with their melodiously
metallic call – rise from feasting on the fruits.
Once through the kissing-gate at the top
we are on the smooth turf shorn by walkers,
sheep and winds. At sea level the bay
seemed crystalline, jade. Up here the sea
is a lexicon of blues. The horizon –
empty of shipping and coasts – is a curve
of geometric perfection. The weather
is still, but the waters shift, ripple, swell.
There is a pre-human silence here – the airs,
the tides lapping at the cavernous cliffs
below. A pod of dolphins breaks the surface.
A pair of gannets dives into a darker shade
of water that may be a shoal of fish.
Later, we will pick some blackberries
as we descend the path, scattering
the clamorous stone chats.
By David Selzer