Cheered on by orange berries
Out to admire the abundance of sea buckthorn on the clifftop, I meet only one other person. I have paused to listen to the churning of the sea and to decide which path to take when he ambles by. "Not a bad day," the man tells me with certainty and without a backward glance. Before I can gather myself to reply he is lost from sight, disappearing into the copse of sycamore scrub that circles the townward side of the cliffs.
I choose the easterly path lit by a luminous streak of sunshine pouring between bulbous purple clouds. It is the peak of a high tide and out at sea two cormorants circle restlessly while slim-winged gulls flit like paper caught on a breeze. The heaving water is olivine in colour and crested white by winds blowing to shore. A kestrel hangs like a ragged scrap of polythene over the cliff face face.
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