It's Still Life

Off Beachy Head

The sea is glassy and warm as if its skin’s been peeled away, and we stand at the top of a hill overlooking the sea. The winds of the world rock us as if a song is working its way out of our ears, some song that would stop us rocking, stop us swaying, and invite us to dance.

My dog is sat at my feet, not moving. Deck, I say, pointing to the ground, and she does. This dog lives to please which is not the same as obedience. Obedience can be ugly. But it’s dangerous around here. The signs say so. The Samaritan’s van says so. The Arundel & Brighton Diocese car says so. The Beachy Head Chaplaincy Team patrol the headland day and night. My dog feels it. I feel it, too – those ragged souls still linked to this place. All those outstretched hands. Innumerable. Floating gently, and waiting for rescue.

A priest walks by, and says, All right?
I nod, and say, Ah’right … as we do in Sussex.