Wave-cut what??

This lazy cliff-top sheep has nothing to do with what lies below, the cantre'f gwaelod drowned land of legend, inundated when the sluice-keeper forgot to close the gates. 
Or, more prosaically, the wave-cut platform beaches of solid stone, sucked and scoured by the pounding of the sea, scooped into  troughs and runnels, the rock smoothed into elemental contoured forms or gnawed down to its crystalline ribs and ridges, encrusted with tiny barnacles, embossed with limpets and embroidered with algae, rock pools filled with soupy water as yellow as urine or with viridian candy-floss, or glassy clear mirroring the sky. It's all so clean, and hard, and empty. No one ever comes here, they pass by above and never find these secret places,

I've described all this before but once again I descended far below the high cliffs to catch my breath in yet another 'inaccessible' bay, Aber Step, to wander in the  geological wonderland exposed by drawing back of the tide. Nothing gives me greater pleasure and I'm only sad that no one else of my acquaintance is likely to consider the breakneck scramble down. 

Well I didn't break my neck, I've lived to tell the tale and to add an album of images to my Flickr page here for anyone as enchanted as me by the land below. (I couldn't choose just one so you get the sheep instead.)