combing the beach, staring down hard at the white noise of sand shells and stones whelk-egg seaweed rocks mermaids purses repeating in groups, my eyes dart up – down – far – close faster than my stiff neck can keep up

I step on white molars, worn down tops of cliffs just centimetres proud of the claggy sand, travelling ahead in time and tide of the cliffs towering above. The world feels upside down, fore land / back sea

the chalk offers footholds but as I hop between its jigsaw pieces my vision blurs and the movement of wave, the peering through pebble and weed, the sharp pull of wind bring a second migraine aura of the day, the flicker darting through my eyes into my head, a play of light at first, like sun on waves, then growing dots that join and darken my sight

I grapple for pills, water bottle, loosen the bag straps that pinch my shoulders, look around – the tide is rising and the beach shrinking. I must climb arduously up the steps to the top of the cliff where the squat lighthouse is further away than it seemed and after the exposed hillside I find the white tower is surrounded by suburbs, the coast path winds into a ‘private estate’ plastered in warning signs and so I plod along the road until I reach a bench and sit out of sight of the sea, close my eyes and wait.