Clifftop dawn


I pulled open the bivy bag cover
and light flooded my consciousness.

Sunlight, sound and birds battered the senses.
No more the gentle calls of midnight,
that crept through the dark to whisper in straining ears.
This was full on, in your face, high volume cacophony.
Gulls, gannets, puffins, and guillemots filled the sky,
swirling out from the ledges and down to the sea below,
calling out into the spring morning that they were alive
and ready for the new day.

Lost to the horizon I was brought back to reality by the foghorn at Bridlington Lighthouse which heralded the arrival of a bank of sea fog. It drifted in from the south, turning the cliffs to steaming waterfalls before finally enveloping the view in a clammy white blanket, bringing an end to the recording of nesting site productivity being carried out by a couple of ornithological researchers who had joined me on the cliffs.
Packing up my kit I wandered back to the still deserted car park.
Breakfast was calling, as was the urge to go north – College Valley and The Cheviots awaited.
First though food and a sleep – thoughts turned to find a spot to doze the morning away.

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