The secrets of the sea

Could I be sure of remaining conscious, with power to enjoy the sight of the earth, though I should be an unidentifiable spark, how much less agony my days would hold, but without agony wild exaltation would also vanish. If I had a thousand years to learn the secrets of the sea, the force of my desire would become lost in the thought of eternity. Though tomorrow may be nothing to me: and I nothing to tomorrow, today is mine.

A day of such sublimity that it is well nigh impossible to pick one image to represent it. The warmth and clarity would have graced July but the fact that this was October and it was likely to be the last such day made it achingly poignant, like the final sight of a loved one's face. I started from the chambered tomb of Cerrig y Gof, then down along the woodland stream to the little shingle bay of Aber Rhigian (only reachable by foot), on over the high cliffs to Newport where a solitary heron watched and waited, stalked and pounced, among indolent flotillas of swans and ducks. The sky was cloudless and the water as smooth as oil.

The quote is one I found recently in the book Tide-race written 60 years ago by Brenda Chamberlain about her life on the island of Bardsey, off the coast of North Wales. As a child struggling with the notion of mortality, I craved the power to remain sentient, if only as a lump of stone, rather than die, so as to be able to continue to experience the wind and the weather forever. Now of course I'm not so sure.

Shots from today, including stone lumps, birds, and a curious fruiting garland of sheep's sorrel, can be found here.