The craggy cliff towers over the landscape. Hard and solid it stands, slippery with the brine and spray that has been thrown up over its back since the dawn of time. The clouded sky shrouds it like a burial mound. Like a great giant, all alone, standing firm between the land and the restless sea. The wind lashes the air. A lone tuft of grass, grasping tenuously to the wind and wave scoured rock, whips in the gale. The air is thick with the stinging smell of sea.
        At the cliff's feet, the ocean foams. The dark water swirls in tortured patterns, striking again and again at the rock with whitecapped teeth. The surf's pounding echoes in the gray mist. Again and again, with the hollow beating of a funeral drum.
        Then suddenly the clouds part. And for an instant the violent water sparkles with light and life, the foam glittering like diamonds. A single shaft of sunlight touches the topmost point of the cliff, all the magic in this world bound up in that single ray of pure gold. And the water cascades into the sea air, pouring its melodies into my hair and onto my lips, and into my soul.

number two | number four