23 June 2012
Huntcliff shoulders up a pale, translucent sky.
Desultory gulls feed the air above the fields where silvery grass thins and the cliff, upswept from the beach, perishes,
slithers down, a hazard of clay and rock - ironstone hard - into a pale icy sea, wild and raucous.
Then the sands begin, wet and sculpted with ridges, flashing with salt-pools, glittering with brushstrokes of shiny black sea-coal.
And the sea watches, swings out, swings in.
The Iron Coast • Opuss № I