Depositing a brother at Mass, I meander over to the lookout for a chat with a local. Invariably about whales. And the pros and cons of country vs city living. The bush vs the big smoke. Only dog-walkers are out this early on a Sunday.
Staggering onto the dry sand, I bee-line for the hard-compact, sudsy surface, and ease northerly. On my right, the Pacific Ocean. Where there be whales. Breeching, and frollicking. Heading south. On my left, a gnawed coastline. Crumbling. Succumbing to the ravishes of time.
I make for the entrance to Cathie Creek. Dim in the distance. I drift, trapped by dangerous beauty.
