I’ve not been to St Agnes yet, but this makes me want to.
Something whimsical as winter draws in.
The ocean swells rise from the dark, cold depths of the Atlantic, rolling eastward from the shores of Newfoundland for two thousand miles before making landfall at last on the north coast of Cornwall. The waves unleash the energy built up in their journey on the sheer cliffs that fringe the village. There are sporadic breaches, where the ocean booms and froths in the eyeless sockets of sea caves. On either side of the fortress of St Agnes head, the sea has found other weak points where the rock is softer, grinding out narrow, knife-sharp coves. But these are small victories and the ocean’s assault on the coastline is mostly futile. This is not the gentle, undulating, south coast with its broad river valleys carved by the sea from its soft sedimentary under-belly. No; here are unyielding granite walls rising sheer from the sea…
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