A Walk by the Sea-Shore
(1958-59)

THERE is no walk quite like that beside the sea-shore; none can compete with the sea for romanticism, loneliness and beauty. From the vast expanse of water down to the tiny intricacy of a shell picked at random from among the rocks, there is mystery. The low rumbling roll of the breakers, the plaintive calls of the sea-birds, the towering majesty of the rain-worn cliffs create an image of intense beauty - a beauty to be discovered only by the sea-shore.

Like liquid slate the waves roll in, relentless and powerful, bringing with them their harvest of weed, jelly-fish and sodden drift-wood. The waves froth and churn, press forward and with a hiss retreat, to advance again with redoubled vigour. They gain a few inches; inches become feet; feet become yards, until the waters beat at the base of the cliffs themselves.

Above the sea brood the clouds - black, grey and tinged with yellow, menacing the whole earth from horizon to horizon. Between the ocean and the sky glide the birds, the messengers of the cloud and sea, calling to one another or resting on the water, rising with the swell, falling with the waves.

The scarred faces of the cliffs, which have stood through centuries against the sun, the rain and the wind, are the homes of the birds whose nests fill the rugged crags, bringing life to their old rocks.

As the tide comes in, the rock pools with their myriad creatures gradually become but part of the sea. As the walker passes he may glimpse starfish, urchins, shrimps, crabs, and wonder at their simplicity.

The littered rocks that form their irregular patterns on the shore with differing colours and peculiar fossils - symbols of the age of the sea - are no longer seen. The rocks yield place to pebbles; the moistened pebbles give way to sand under foot; the cliffs tilt and fall drunkenly into a bay.

Still the mysterious odour of the deep persists the salt, moist smell of rotten fish and seaweed and general decadence - so incongruous among the living birds and rock-pool creatures.

A glimpse is caught of a boat, far out to sea, apparently unruffled by the waves; seemingly unaware of the pending clouds as, like some clockwork toy, it proceeds slowly to its haven and disappears into the infinity beyond the horizon.

Thus the walk by the sea-shore differs from the walk in the country in that it always holds something new, whether it be on the shore or the cliffs or in the sky or the sea; an interesting piece of driftwood, a rare bird or shell, which, together with the whole. atmosphere of the sea, produces a delight peculiar to the sea alone. 

D. A. CUMMING, 4A