On the headland the stiff breeze blew away the waiting and the world was alive again. A stiff walk up and down the steep paths and gullies and my body was in touch with its animal. The turquoise sea was frilled with white and the gulls and crows soared and spiralled as if in play.
On the path, we nearly stepped on a small grass snake, barely moving in the sun. Further on, scattered feathers marked the spot where a bird had been prey. Around another turn, and the seasonal wildflowers twinkled in the sunlight. Bluebells, sea thrift, campion and quill.
Above, against the sun, I saw a dark mark flying. I thought it was a raven but it felt as ominous as a storm cloud. The gulls crowded around it, stabbing, and then the bird arced down; the wind seemed to still and the air hummed at the speed of it. It was a peregrine, nesting in the nearby cliffs, and it sent all the other birds into a spin at the mere twitch of a wing.
I watched it soar effortlessly, then stoop through the squalling wind. The dark smudge in the sky became a tawny-brown speck of fearsome beauty travelling alone in its own airflow.