In a further defiance of my
risk averse persona,
I suggested that we should duck under a fence
in the dapply woods,
which had an invitingly worn footpath leading
away from it
into a ravine.
We followed a trickling stream
down to the cliff edge.
Wonky horizon indicates the precariousness
of the footing.
There were comfortable tussocks
and slabs of rock to sit on,
not too far above a sheltered cove.
We were not quite alone.
A young creature suddenly materialised,
seemingly floating up from the sheer drop.
He had very long hair,
a very long beard,
a curly waxed moustache
and was wearing,
a sort of dress,
a short stripy dress,
a bowler hat decorated with large white daisies
and carried a shiny pink satchel
We chatted amiably for a few minutes
about the inadvisability of our
climbing down to the beach
and then he carried on his way,
up the ravine.
There he goes.