A Thin Place If you walk in a straight line across the beach from the footpath which runs between blue mountain and the graveyard, past the marram mounds, dunes crawling with devils’ toenails, you will come to the spot where the seagulls settle just before the water’s edge. If you stand in that spot, feet in foam, toes tunnelling crustaceans, put the steelwork’s skeleton behind you and let your gaze wander to Huntcliffe. Even in greyest fret a pink gossamer...
