Out near the horizon there was a rock.  Each wave that broke over it covered it for a moment.  She was watching the waves and the rock.  The rock that persisted.  She realised, in the Cornish air, that some things do persist – through centuries.  That there might well have been a woman on this hillside a thousand years ago, watching the rock.

That woman – rough-footed and worn by childbirth – might have been doubting her own survival too.  Maybe she was marked with loss and confusion.  Maybe she was sure of nothing and then, lips numb and salt-slaked, she mouthed the same words.

‘It’s still there.  It gets covered – over and over – but it’s still there.’


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