An Empty Path At Douglas Head
The path clings to the cliffside, thin and almost forgotten, as though the wind has chased everyone else away. In this moment it is mine alone. The air is sharp, carrying the salt sting of the sea and the cry of gulls that wheel in the grey sky above. Below, the water folds itself against the rocks, each crash softened to a sigh by distance.
My footsteps drum steady against the earth, the only rhythm besides my breath. It feels safe here. Safe in the way solitude sometimes is, when no one is watching and the world narrows to wind, sea, and thought.
The cliffs seem to lean in, listening. I imagine the secrets they keep, pressed deep into their stone. Storms weathered, ships wrecked, words spoken into the air and swallowed by the sea. If only one would whisper back, just once.
