Losing Face

The path forks at the edge of the cliff. One path continues along the edge, another runs down the steep clay slope. My dog runs ahead, stops, looks back searching for cues. I’m lost in my thoughts. It turns and sprints down the clay towards the sea. I follow.

The calm sea exposes a narrow stretch of sand and pebbles, a passage under the cliff. The afternoon sun is baking the clay slopes. The light fresh breeze blows puffs of fine clay dust off the cliff. I stop on the pebbles to smell the sea.

The dog cocks his head. He looks straight up at the sky, then back at me. I look up and notice a plane flying at high altitude directly above us. Having spotted it I become conscious of the low rumble of its engines. More dust rains down. The dog looks back, first at the cliff, then at me. The jet engines roar louder and I imagine that I can feel their vibrations in the ground under my feet. The plane seems too far to be that loud. My dog starts barking and bolts off. I turn around; the cliff face is sliding down towards me.