Lighthouse & Moon
Coming back from the base of Beachy Head lighthouse at low tide, a moment is taken to stand on the exposed sand and watch the crescent moon slowly ebbing toward the horizon as the sun's bright orange orb dips behind the cliff face, producing pastel shades of wonder and warmth. The wind here is very strong this evening, and the feeling of elemental exposure is powerfully present. At the base of the lighthouse one can hear the wind moaning as it flurries past the electrical cables leading up to the cliff face. It is treacherous and bleak there, as if the power of the sea, along with the sharp pointed rocks encrusted with abrasive barnacles and covered in slick green slippery algae, bear a hidden malice to all passing through. There is an echo of the raw unrelenting power unleashed on these cliffs through the ages: smooth hunks of flint litter the shoreline, and shapely huge boulders of chalk stand proud in carved fluid forms, while immense white cracks that span from the beach to cliff top can be seen every ten meters or so. The thick layers of varying coloured chalk strata in the cliffs standout clearly in the dusky light, and all of the trillions of sea shelled animals that lived on the earth over the eons come to mind, as if they were thoughts of distant family. Despite its visual appeal, this is not a place to rest or be still. This is a dynamic landscape: the tide will soon be coming back in, and all of this will be submerged in a few hours. Turning around, the strong wind pushes back against each step taken. This body's temperature is dropping quickly now, almost as quickly as the light is fading... And nursing a sprained ankle from an earlier slip on some algae, it is important to press on.
Lighthouse & Moon
Coming back from the base of Beachy Head lighthouse at low tide, a moment is taken to stand on the exposed sand and watch the crescent moon slowly ebbing toward the horizon as the sun's bright orange orb dips behind the cliff face, producing pastel shades of wonder and warmth. The wind here is very strong this evening, and the feeling of elemental exposure is powerfully present. At the base of the lighthouse one can hear the wind moaning as it flurries past the electrical cables leading up to the cliff face. It is treacherous and bleak there, as if the power of the sea, along with the sharp pointed rocks encrusted with abrasive barnacles and covered in slick green slippery algae, bear a hidden malice to all passing through. There is an echo of the raw unrelenting power unleashed on these cliffs through the ages: smooth hunks of flint litter the shoreline, and shapely huge boulders of chalk stand proud in carved fluid forms, while immense white cracks that span from the beach to cliff top can be seen every ten meters or so. The thick layers of varying coloured chalk strata in the cliffs standout clearly in the dusky light, and all of the trillions of sea shelled animals that lived on the earth over the eons come to mind, as if they were thoughts of distant family. Despite its visual appeal, this is not a place to rest or be still. This is a dynamic landscape: the tide will soon be coming back in, and all of this will be submerged in a few hours. Turning around, the strong wind pushes back against each step taken. This body's temperature is dropping quickly now, almost as quickly as the light is fading... And nursing a sprained ankle from an earlier slip on some algae, it is important to press on.