A penitent sheep falls to his knees in the tufted grass of the meadow. A marmalade bullock slowly chews the cud, his nose green with grass clippings. There is sky, sea, air space. The sea glitters, a reticulated surface constantly stretching and recoiling between the islands, a monster forever on the move. Yet today it is calm, sated by the warmth of sunshine skies.
Near the mouth of the cave a capuccino foam goes in, out. In its indecission it is caught by the breeze and is butterflied upwards into the dark of the mawl. Basalt columns rise from the sea, grey black and shining, thrown by giants. Natural stepping stones lead to the cave where the sea sounds her bass drum, insistant, repeating. The sea turns from lapis to lavender and back again through turquoise, all the shades of the dragonflies wing.
Here, where the heather meets the sea and the thistle reach to be kissed by the sky and gardens burst with perfumed fruitfulness. Both saints of history and angels of nature are present, for why would you ever leave? This is a place of growth: personal, spiritual and vegetable.
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