In her footsteps
In the golden light of this evening, I walked with our visitors across the cliffs and down to a secluded beach where I often walked with my mother, as a small child. There was a peculiar peacefulness, despite the chatter of my companions and I was lost in a different time that I longed to remember.
Quite often, my mother would push me in a pram or drag it through the calcium rich sand and all the while, she would be singing. I searched in my memory for a picture of her proud face, her smile, her beautiful dark hair. And her voice, I wanted more than anything to hear her voice calling me to walk faster, before the tide came in and washed our bare feet.
As we strolled along the water’s edge I looked back at the cliffs with its rare orchids and sea lavender, the gentian and the gorse and I thought how breathtakingly beautiful this part of the world is.
I am eternally grateful for my unconventional upbringing in this wild part of Wales and I was grateful, in that moment, for the silent seagulls and the calm and quiet sea.