Participles and Portents: (2)

Cavern Song:


I awoke with the very unpleasant sensation that something was amiss. Unfortunately, this was not just remnants from a troubled sleep brought on from the sharp rocks digging into my back. Standing, I was able to discern that I had definitely outstayed my welcome in my refuge. The tide was coming in, and apparently had been for some time, given that I was now quite separated from the shore by a good thirty feet.

While this may not seem insurmountable, I knew the terrain that lay beneath the salty spray. And though my swim stroke was fairly strong, I doubted it would fare well against the sharp crags that hid just below the swells. As they say, I was now out of the proverbial frying pan and into the fire. Surveying my surroundings it was clear that my little refuge would not stay dry through the full rising of the tide. I needed to find another place to bide my time. My basket was a definite nuisance if I intended to climb the rock wall, but I did not want to leave it behind. Making do with what was at hand I wrapped my shawl around the opening and tied it fast, then used my belt to make a loop that I could slip over my shoulder, creating a kind of sling effect. With the basket seated precariously on my back, I once again bemoaned the lack of gloves and began to look for purchase for my travel upwards.

There were no great choices, but a few that held promise, so I began my onerous climb. After about 20 minutes, and with a well scraped elbow and palm, I made it to a small ridge. Grateful for the rest, I hauled myself up and swung the basket over my head, letting it fall beside me. The sun was beginning its downward crest. I was far enough away from the tide to feel secure, but I needed to consider what I would do until I could climb down and make my way home. Home, I guess that was a first, a first time for me to think of the little cottage as home. Rather than let myself get caught up in this reverie, I stood and began to look for possibilities for what looked to be a long night. What presented itself was a slight cleft in the wall of rock that continued to rise beside me. The darkness that pervaded it seemed to indicate some depth beyond, perhaps a cavern? I felt around my pockets, hoping that that I at least had my little pen-light with me.

I found my keys and was grateful to note that the small pen-light was still dangling from the ring. It would not provide much light, but it would provide some. I slung the basket back over my shoulder and slipped into the cleft. It was noticeably colder in this space. I felt somehow as if I were intruding. The space felt pristine, untouched and my presence sullied it. I moved as quickly as I dared through the small passage, hoping I might break through to a spot where a mere human might feel more accepted. The rough rock walls slowly curved and arched over head. The passage seemed oddly smooth under my feet. It rose in a slight incline for about 20 feet and then changed direction, moving off to the left, and began to slope downward ever so slightly. After walking through the rock maze with its omnipresent voice of silence for what seemed like over half an hour the narrow passage suddenly opened and I found myself in a small cavern at last. It glowed dimly with reflected light. I could just make out the sound of the sea. I dropped my basket on a ledge and followed the sound around a slight bend. Just below the rock I stood on, perhaps a drop of two feet, was a small cove of crushed rock. Here the waves lapped almost gently on the shore. Satisfied that I was safe in my newfound place of solace, I made my way back to the interior of the cavern to consider how I would spend the night.

I had no other light source with me and knew I should preserve the pen-light. I turned it off and was very happy to find that the reflected light provided just enough glow to allow me to see my environment and rummage through the basket's contents. I realized I was famished and set about the task of dividing what I had purchased into portions that would see me through a couple of days (just in case a storm set in and I had to wait it out in this lap of luxury).

I set aside five chunks of the ripe red cheddar. Irish red cheddar is perhaps my favorite cheese and I had planned on a full-fledged feast of indulgence. In fact, I was supposed to be in front of the peat fire, savoring this entire wedge with some brown bread and the wine I had purchased. I laughed, "Just as well my plans when awry. It will save me the time of having to work off eating too much at one sitting.” I separated the brown bread in the same fashion. Then I looked at the wine. It was the only drink I had with me. The only water available was of the sea, and it would do me no good. So Fruit of the Gods it would have to be. Only, how was I going to get the bottle open? I had not planned on needing a corkscrew in a cavern by the sea. As I pondered this new dilemma, I sat back upon the rock ledge. “Curiouser and curiouser," I thought, “Who would have imagined I would be able to strand myself on a rock in the sea?” And that is when it occurred to me to push the cork down into the bottle - which if you must know is much easier said than done.

Much, much later, a victorious cork-pusher (namely me) began to drink quite happily from the lovely bottle of red table wine.  I drank and ate my first portion, and then did my best to settle myself down for a nap, which must have worked as I do not remember anything more until the dreams began.