There was an eerie silence within the cove area as we ate our cooling fish and chips from their white, spongy trays. Vinegar first, then salt. That’s what the lady in the shop said. So it sticks.
The silence that hemmed us in stemmed from the lack of gushing waves that continually crease their way along the coastline. The sea is trapped momentarily, content to loll rather than breath in and out, crashing.
Anyway, there’s no such thing as silence. Our brains keep ticking and swelling as the blood feeds our thoughts.
A heron squawks and flees.
Night enveloped us gradually as we wandered up and down the irregular, Rubic-cube rocks, which acted as steps guiding us outwards from the land proper. To the left, on the horizon, St. Mary’s Lighthouse became less white and more creamy, lit on one side; glowing lopsidedly. Above, a smear of bright light, probably an air plane, gave off enough brightness to touch the wiggling ripples on the sea’s surface.
Underneath my feet, I noticed entire miniature valleys acting like the gaps between jigsaw pieces if they were to open up and widen. Lilliputian gorges appeared smoothed-over by time, changing shade with each exposed layer. In random pools, seaweed gathers like sodden, old clown wigs, but blackened by the unhelpful light rather than the green delivered by daytime.
This far out, the sea becomes present; an active participant as it laps gently around the curves of the furthest rocks that jut out, bravely and perfectly.
I looked around at my two friends, but by now they were fuzzy shapes in the dark, having walked on ahead while I scribbled notes and made small, inadequate drawings. They live together and remind me of what can be good about life, and especially life with someone else. As I tried to make them out, the two figures were held in a single embrace. Of course, it emphasised lack and loss on my part, but mostly I felt hope and warmth that something simple yet special could occur at any moment.
We trundled back to the car in our little convoy, up the crusted steps, looking down on the expanse of rock that grew from the bottom of the cliffs, jewelled by frequent delves of water.
The journey back with a whirring compilation tape, led us past late-night petrol stations where we bought chocolate florentines that got caught in our back teeth.
Paul And The Park
