He might be a solitary and contemplative hiker, wandering the wild west coast of Ireland from Donegal Bay to Tory Sound, admiring the scenery and enjoying his own company. He was in no hurry, pausing from time to time to turn and stare seaward. Ten steps to his left the three-hundred-foot cliff dropped sheer to the crawling waters of the Atlantic. On his back he wore a light knapsack, and in his right hand he held what looked like a solid walking stick. He came on foot, much closer to the sea edge than I would ever go. I had been watching the man since early afternoon, ever since my Alert system detected his presence five and a half miles to the south. When you have died once, you become most reluctant to do so again.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. ArchivesCategories |