Below the chalk sky, below the clods of pine, below the wet cliffs of limestone, there exists a honeycomb of coves etched into the land by the snail trickle of water over millennia. After a long-forgotten collapse, these wormholes exposed themselves to the uncertain tides of the sea. And from them, a small legend has grown.
Those long, mournful chords are described as aural crystal by some, liquid nightmare by others. They say mortal hearts are filled with lust upon hearing them and are unable to steer their body from the fate that awaits them. They also say that the vibrations are a buffer, warning away passing ships from the tangle of rocks lurking beneath the waves of the bay.
No one has ever considered that they may simply be singing for themselves.
Paddy Dobson
30th July 2020