Charmouth Cliffs

Green carpet fields, laid seamed and edged with berry hedge and windswept tufted trees hemline the valley stream that cuts through to the sea. Coarse bracken covers the higher cliff, with feather ferns in darker damper climbs beside the path's incline. Here sloes display September's hues - softened bloom on velvet blues. Blackberry brambles necklaced red and black their spangled jewels among the thorny tangles where many feet have passed beside this trodden path. High above, a silhouette against the sky, held there by the upward lift of wind, above the land-slipped cliff, a Peregrine hangs with quivered pinion wings, a master of its feathered span. With stationed head his keen eyes scan. Then off on swing with gliding bow before the bird returns to hold once more, then drop with close-fold wings down to the grassy floor to disappear from sight. Beyond, now focussed into view, below horizon's silver line, a small white sail and jib command the breezy sea. Both man and bird display with ease their timeless gift, with God alone sustaining both as Spirit breathes, but neither know. Seeing this alone, and only with grace-gifted eyes, I in silent wonder laud each their perfect mastery to their master and their Lord.