Ebb and Flow

June Gemmell

I stand on the cliffs. My annual pilgrimage, for more years than I care to remember. I stand where the seven tides meet, where kittiwakes ride the thermals, where tourists come from far and wide to see the view. The moon hangs like a ghost of itself in the clear blue sky, controlling the movement of the water from far above.

A petite Chinese woman stands on the path below me. Her black jacket is out of place on this hot summer’s day. A strap holds a camera around her neck.

The water plucks at the rocks below, but gently. The sea is calm today. I’ve been here when it chops and stamps, when it throws itself against the rocks in a temper. On those days, vast boiling cauldrons swirl up from the depths. But now the sea is a mirror and miles of open, flat water stretch away into silver.

The insects mutter into the grass. Small groups of visitors step their way carefully down the stony path to take in the view, sun hats angled against the glare.

I catch a movement below, a splash, and a shape breaks the water. Then a number of splashes, water falling off grey backs, and I gasp. ‘Dolphins’. No one hears me and I turn to the nearest person, the Chinese woman in the black jacket, and say it louder, ‘Dolphins!’ She looks puzzled and I use the international language of pointing ‘Look, Look.’ Her eyes follow my finger.

Others overhear and I tell them ‘Dolphins, dolphins over there!’ Excitement breaks out in the knotted groups, cameras and phones come out and click. Strangers nod and smile to other strangers and exclaim their delight.

A silent place is now full of voices. The Chinese woman has a daughter who has come to claim her and they converse in their own language. I say to them both ‘Beautiful’ and nod. They repeat the word. The pod leap and dive, some entirely clear of the water, each fresh movement elucidating ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs’ from the small crowd.

Then they’re gone. They disappear into the depths. Off to play elsewhere. The water calms to flat, not a trace of movement. The moon continues its journey, it waxes and wanes. The high tide creeps up the beach, then recedes. This may be my last visit here. Ebb and flow.

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