The only one I could find that came close to capturing the absolute, insane beauty of that place is here.
But really. You have to stand on that island, climb the rocks on the shore, get lost in the little folds and hollows of the land, look down cliffs to find secluded beaches, stand on submerged rocks and feel the raw power of the ocean spray your skirt.
You have to be there. Smell the salt. Wonder how white, fine sand got in the crevasses of rocks so high up. Chew on grass. Sing. Watch the Loon that's perched on the buoy out to sea. Look for seals among the breakers.
Stand there and cry because it's so amazing. And because you can't keep it.
There were tears in my eyes.
More than once.
Look, I hate being outside, but one day, one day when I can drive, God willing, I will pack snacks and cucumber sandwiches. I will follow the wind-y roads to the secluded seashore with music blasting, singing at the top of my lungs. I will lean into the hollow of a rock, high up, the sea crashing far below, and I will write poetry and watch the birds and the scuba divers.
The only bad thing about the place - and hey, it isn't bad, it's bittersweet, and sometimes bittersweetness is the best kind of good - is, well, it makes me feel like this.
It's so romantic. The sort of place that basically requires a special hand to hold.
But I'm only fifteen. I don't want a boyfriend. My fictional loves and I can go sit on the cliffs and I'll save the view for someone I'll spend the rest of my life with. Because it's worth it, that sky is worth it.
And that was the story of what I did a day or two ago.
Because I was bored.
These are the places my dad randomly takes me when I'm bored. Because we have nothing better to do.
Be very jealous.