Making the circuit

On another glorious day I make a complete circuit. Going clockwise from Bassetts Cove into Tehidy Woods, I follow the paths through the patches of sunlight amongst the trees to emerge in the tiny hamlet of Bell Lake. A timber chalet has been erected on the edge of the woods to serve teas during the summer months; I'm suprised the planners gave permission for that.
A few yards up the road I turn right through a small gate beside a stile to take the path up across the fields back to the cliffs. As I close the gate the coconut scent of the gorse in that warm and sheltered spot is overpowering.
In the fields a buzzard overhead is being mobbed by two crows. Eventually they give up, and leave the buzzard to spiral in peace - a dark shape, wings spread, against the pure blue of the sky.
On the path back along the cliffs to the Cove I meet John Elsey who is walking from Porthtowan to Hayle.
John lives inland at Perranwell now, but still walks the coast path regularly. His suntanned face framed by shining, wavey steel-grey hair shows that he likes being outdoors.

I am unable to help John with information about tide times. He starts off again on his way to Godrevy without knowing whether he will be able to take the easy route along the beach from there to Hayle, or whether he will have to stretch his calves and his lungs on the path through the undulating dunes.


Heather Hosking

Granite

I have been trying to write an article about granite, but the phrases will not flow. I imagine the words, heavy and piled on top of each other, like the massive boulders at the summit of Cornwall's tors and carns.

I give up and go out into the sunshine.

At Bassetts Cove I hear the bleating of sheep, the call of a pheasant, and the endless susurration of the sea. On a sheltered hedge the first clump of Thrift is out, and there are green shoots breaking through in the ploughed field.

I meet two stylish blonde ladies. One, from nearby Illogan, is wearing a peach- coloured hoody. The other, who has come to care for her elderly father, is in a neat black track suit. They drive off in a Jag.

By the time I reach the granite gate post at the entrance to Tehidy Country park I am discovering the poetry in the landscape again - even in the stone.

In the woods the ground is covered with celandines, primroses and the blind spikes of bluebells. A grey and brown buzzard glides, at head height, through the moss-wrapped, sun-dappled trees.

Heather Hosking