I strolled up the path, through the dense undergrowth. I do not know a name for the berry bushes that grow here but hey must be a tenacious lot. They grow thick on these well worn rock cliffs all around the island, and a brush against them with your shins will earn you welts on your skin that seep out little droplets of blood. Between the shin high deep green of bush a few daisies poke above and wave in the seabreeze.
As I clamor over the first ridge of rock I see massive plates of smoothly worn stone that rolls off close to the breaking waters. I step forward to see glistening pools of standing waters, green with algae and moss through the glass like basins. It must be from rain or the remains of the melting snow from winter, but the pools are trapped in the slopes of the rocks and fade off as far as my eyes can see in the blinding reflections.
I reach out with my right hand to balance myself as I cautiously guide my feet down to the next smooth course. Once there I move easily on the surface. I follow the one pond forward about ten or fifteen meters down the face of the embankment. Every couple of steps I slide on the loose rocks and water smoothed stone. With a gasp I jump back. In front of me stands a crevice at least 15 meters deep with straight vertical jagged edges and the white crests roll in and slam below my feet in a deafening symphony. I could feel my adrenaline pumping as I made my way back to my feet.
From this vantage the Atlantic ocean and the rocks seem so large and powerful, and I am humbled to feel such a small part of it. I start to hum "What a wonderful World" as I make my way back to the van.
