Ynyslas, The Walk

A weak Eastern Sun is struggling to rise, as if reluctant to leave those from distant lands in darkness, to sleep or to suffer, whichever fate decides. Slowly it climbs above the distant dark mountains, but still not fully prepared to show itself, as it hides behind the blister blue clouds, unwilling to share with me the warmth I need.

I continue along the unremarkable Golf Club path, until recently, submerged in seawater that had escaped its confines, and charged violently over the sea wall, hurling toxic debris from its watery wrath. I walk up a small pebbled incline, and there it is. It never fails to excite me, and it never disappoints, a consistent stimulant.

The whole extent of Cardigan Bay lies before me, from the Llyn Peninsula in the North, extending a friendly hand to our cousins in Eire, to beautiful Tenby in the South.

The tide is almost fully in, not so vicious today, but showing off in a salty, translucent rush, the crests pure white and glistening in the morning light, crashing relentlessly onto the beach, sculpting a slightly different landscape every day, creating and then destroying, like a demented artist. There is, as is usual, a breeze from the West, fresh and satisfying, cleansing my soul as I continue my morning walk.

The grace of the moment is disturbed by a gang of Herring Gulls, screaming like I imagine an insane mind to be screaming inside. They are fighting over something that lies dead on the sand, it is still and broken, like a vow. It looks like a Porpoise, ejected from the circle of life. It has a huge gash along its side, displaying soft pink flesh and bone, the secrets that lie beneath the skin, the mysteries within, spilt out onto the sand, visible now for all to see. There is no dignity in death, and you don’t have to look too far to find it on a beach. The stench fills my lungs, the putrid odour of unnecessary death is everywhere these days. I walk slowly into the cold green sea to wash the decay from my skin, and I keep walking, deeper and deeper, freezing cold and breathless. I see there is something on the horizon, it looks vaguely like hope.

No matter what injustices are thrust upon us, no matter what despair we feel, there is always that, isn’t there?