With my back to the ocean, I drift along the base of the cliff, gazing, peering, touching, greeting the familiar shrines where hilltop water trickles down through rocks, ferns, and grasses, gathering at beach level. Looking north, out across the Atlantic, facing its full fury and grace, the living cliff shifts with the seasons. Water finds its way downward, dripping into pauses and reflections, sprinkling onto rocks and seeds below - little jewels of gathered, vibrant energies, shrines.

This small cove in the far south-west of Cornwall is my first walk when I visit. It is a place to still the brain's chatter and breathe back into life. North-facing, it is a geological wonderland of elemental processes and jumbled layers of time from around 300-275 million years ago. Rounded granite boulders, some two meters wide, sit beside dark greenstone and folded slate; a layer of angular, frost-shattered rocks sits above as if frozen in motion. Later pressures and transformations intersect one another, all happening in a kind of simultaneity in my imagination.

A multiplicity of ecologies, alive and breathing, as I turn from cliff to ocean, absorbing spray, salt, and sounds. And then back to the cliff again.