Fissures

Everything changes. The world is in a state of flux. Just like the cliffs around where I live. Last time I walked along this section of the coast path the ground had opened up, a giant fissure, the seaward side slipping downwards.

Every time I come here the landscape is different, has slipped a little further, the crack wider, the drop greater, sections of path that I once walked now empty air and precipitous falls.

This section of coastline is on the move, never standing still, constantly reinventing itself. The cliffs crumble and reveal treasure. I picked up these fossils on the beach below, pristine and new, un-battered by the waves and tides.

Next time I go there it will have changed again.