Northcott Mouth and Sandymouth

[squirmelia]

I think of the fragility of tightropes as I walk across the crumbling earth at Northcott Mouth, near to the signs that say the path has been realigned. It is when I am windswept and peering into the rough sea below, that the cliff top makes my heart flutter. Running hapazardly, not quite flying, on grass that is springy, I try to catch up with my mum. I look into the distance, just before we turn back and there is no-one else around, just curves of the cliffs, striped ledges and curious rock formations jutting out on the shore below, snarling in the mist.

At Sandymouth Bay, two waterfalls cascade from beautiful orange coloured ridges onto the pebbled beach. From far away, it looks almost like books arranged on shelves, glimmering behind the waterfalls. I wonder what stories would be inside those rocks, what wishes and promises once sparkled there.

As I edge nearer to the ocean, sea foam floats around me, dancing in the air like snow.