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.’