September 1, 2008


Filed under: England — sensel @ 1:18 pm

The drystone walls have been replaced by hedges, the heather by gorse (think scotch broom with 1″ spikes) and the sheep by… fish? New hay rolls amass on the hillsides as if to attack, or perhaps to make a lemming-like roll and tumble into the sea.

And the sea speaks, though in a different language from the rivers in the dales, or at least the River Kent. While the river spoke mostly of itself, the sea speaks mostly of elsewhere, other shores, other places its been. It can be a bit disdainful: These are no rocks. This wall is no barrier to me. I’ve seen whiter beaches, and blacker ones, broader strands than this that clink under my stroking. This cliff is all right, though, I like it. It presents me a worthy challenge. I will batter it down with a patience unknown even to stone. While I work, let me tell you of islands and storms out to sea, of basking sharks and cormorant fleets and rainbows.

I have less to say about Cornwall; I’ve stopped counting miles, though it must be around 250 now based on the official trail segments, and fallen into a sort of zen. Brainwashing is a good thing when it’s the wind and sea doing the washing. Hope to see St. Michael’s Mount tomorrow, weather cooperating, and then I’m off to Paris. Bon chance!

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