Articles

Brighton

The prospects of Romanticism, particularly poetry, have always animated me because someone’s unconditioned ability to write about themes such as nature so subjectively is overwhelming. I could never quite discern how they did it so effortlessly, see the extraordinary in the ordinary. Today, as I sit on the cliff of the first of the seven sisters in Brighton, I understand it. 

I could sit here for hours – staring at the sea. The waves, white horses, so regal and calming. Peace, solitude. If you at all doubt nature’s ability to heal, you must not come here, or I fear you will be disproven. 

As I turn my head to the right, I see the chalky cliffs, freckled with small cottages. I can hardly imagine what it would be like to live in a place like this, every second of life is the equivalent of paradise. 

A handful of people walk their dogs, as the sheep and horses graze, undisturbed, unaffected by anything. The only audible sounds are the splash of the waves, the birds chirping, and the occasional squawking of the lone duck by the pond. 

The sun shining bright above me subdues the cold, and as I turn my head to look behind all I see is the most magnificent view of green hills you could ever conceptualize. The foliage, with a hint of blue from the ponds, it completely consumes me. The only plausible issue on my mind is which way to look, I don’t want to miss a single detail, I want to embed it all in my memory. I want this visualization to resurface whenever dejection overcomes me.

I could sit here forever, it seems. Two hours have passed and I didn’t even feel it. Little insects crawl over my book as I write this, I feel welcomed. The clouds are thin and stretch across the sky seamlessly.  Greenery till as far as I can spectate. 

In front of me, the greenery breaks only at the small pebble beach that sinks into the sea as this scene into my cerebrum. It is majestic.

The scarce sight of people around here positions this asylum as some sort of an arcane getaway, and the perks of that are endless. My soul floats through the sky, I am spellbound. 

As the wind picks up, and the little myna bird that sat next to me as I wrote flies into the firmament, I get up to leave 

I sat there for nearly two and a half hours, yet the brevity of my stay saddens me. 

The beauty of the seven sisters left me awestruck, yet also worried about how such beauty might just be ephemeral if even a part of the world continues to have a passive approach towards environmental issues like climate change. We have a limited time left to be efficacious. The time to act is now.