When I become daunted
only a few steps down
I persevere, edge
along the narrow path
cut into the cliff face,
slippery after rain.
Zigzag down from
one outcrop to the next.
Seagulls soaring, diving.
Up draughts, down draughts.
Far below, the boom
of momentous waves.
Reach the foot of the cliff,
usually below sea level but it's
low tide, rocks have emerged,
encrusted with seaweed.
There, revealed, is the
entrance to a secret cave.
Not that secret, well-known
in photographs. But few brave
the cliff path to experience
first hand the cave's wonders,
an underwater death trap
except for this short period.
The beam of my torch is lost
among spectacular voids,
sculptural rock formations
on a truly elemental scale.
The rocks start to gurgle,
the tide is turning.
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