Face to Face


between a rock and a hard place the eye trapped the mouth a straight line features as solid as a rock

face to face and what will become of their stoniness what rapture binds them here immoveable rock hard

their hardness the hardness of rock and who will bend first who will allow water and wind to grind

to wind them down till their ashes join the beach’s sand and they flow jointly to the sea of mud

the Fundy mud at arm’s length now but patiently waiting for these giants to fall.

“Take” she said, “on a gusty day, the impact of wind and rain, of waves upon rocks, the shock of the elements as you approach the edge, the sea surge as the wave rolls up and in and crashes against the land.” The wind tugs at my jacket. The rain slicks down my hair and moistens my camera. The grass is wet and threatens to send me tumbling down the cliff face to the waiting sea ... I can hear the wind’s high-pitched hum as it cuts through wires and fences and buffets the lighthouse. Seagulls keen and shriek as they struggle to stay aloft, the black whip of a crow is flashed across the bay. Beneath my feet, earth is an anvil to the waves’ hammer.  Slowly, the cliffs crumble, break down, and dissipate to this bright red mud that clutters the bay.