POWERHOUSE

I left the long view behind and made my way down the steep Cornish cliffs, moving closer until there was nowhere further to go, standing at the edge above sea and rock. Across from me, the abandoned pumping stations of the old tin mine clung to the land, their industrial forms set against the force of the Atlantic. The weight of the ocean pressed hard into the rocks below, making these remnants of human endeavour feel fragile by comparison. I stayed there, breathing in the salt air, watching as the light shifted and gathered between clouds. Time stretched in that exposed place, the sound of the sea constant and close. Nothing announced itself. I remained, watching the balance tip, waiting for the moment when the light would briefly align, until at last, it bathed the water and poured its glow onto the land and into my frame.