Edgework
Day of the Autumn Equinox (sunset 19:19)
Morning dog-walk up on Beacon Head. A brand-new mesh fence slices across the walkers’ beaten track, its metal posts punched into the chalk like pins in icing. A cable-tied notice reads:
EROSION SURVEY 2026
In July the cliff lip felt yards away; now the drop looks close enough to gauge by shoe-length.
Murphy investigates the fence, decides it fails all canine criteria, and trots on. I linger, counting seven fresh cracks radiating inland like crow’s-feet.
Back in town Ronnie is unloading cedar planks outside his unit.
“Council’s waving a new risk map,” he says. “Workshop leases might go yearly.”
He pats the stack. “If the place is sliding seaward I’ll build an ark — charge the tech bros for premium cabins.”
I laugh, but later — alone in the lock-up — the joke tap-taps in my skull. Whenever I cut the radio, the silence feels tidal, as though the bay has started practising apnea.
19:00 — Walk along the beach. The light has already dulled to gunmetal.
19:19 — The sun’s rim touches water and — click — drops, a guillotine sunset rather than the usual linger. I turn inland. All night the surf murmurs at the edge of hearing, shuffling its arguments in the dark.