The Cliffs of Moher
As I stood at the edge of the cliff and looked down upon the flying birds and crashing water, a soft wave of salty wind blew across my face. One more step and I would have been at one with the ocean, slamming into the jagged wall of rock with the frothy white tips. I leaned over but kept my footing, as I watched the gulls glide effortlessly with the energy coming in from the deep open ocean. From far away the ocean seemed to move in slow motion with surprising force, but upon closer inspection the sheer power is more natural than the cows grazing in the field to my left.
Shrieks from behind pull me out of my trance as I yank back my body from the increasing danger of learning how to glide with the flights of white. Unhinging my feet from the brown earth, I take a step back, twisting my body towards the path lined with yellow flowers and patches of fluorescent green grass. I walk the unfamiliar path towards a landscape previously unknown and let the sweet ocean breeze take me in. The refreshing feeling of freedom, of exploration, of imagination and of time frozen in the salty air that seeps through my clothes and caresses my skin. Something so new yet so old; millions have done this before, but I like to think I’m the only one.
Walking these Cliffs of Moher, I wonder if I will ever see anything so beautiful again.