I feel better this afternoon. The wind has dropped and the air is cooler, both of which are a balm to my headache.
I thought I'd do some exploring since I felt in poor condition to concentrate on work this morning. I have a fair few bramble scratches for my pains, but I can now say I've walked the length of this island – which admittedly isn't an achievement in distance, though I'll still claim it as a feat of man versus nature.
The island comprises two small hills, which are flanked by a long, sandy beach on the sheltered eastern side and guarded by craggy granite ramparts to the west. There are no trees on the island, though the bracken and gorse grow tall on its unkempt slopes, and the grasses that have eked out a living here are so tough and wiry that I begin to understand the cattle's flight.
Most of the residences are clustered on the northern hill, closer to the channel and the reassuring presence of the larger isle, but the great granite outcroppings on the southern hill could easily be mistaken for the remains of an ancient civilisation, carved into towers and turrets with lines far straighter than the chaotic architect of nature has any right to claim. Between the cracks and hollows in these granite structures and the riotously wild plant life, there are no end of shadowed hiding spots.
When I stopped to take in the view, I found myself strangely uneasy. The rock is watching me, I thought, and I fought my way to the isthmus between hills with a haste that garnered me most of my scratches. I can only attribute this moment to tiredness as I write it now.
I stopped at the crest of the northern hill, too, and looked across to the larger isle. It seemed so close that I could reach out and touch it, though I know the channel dividing us is patrolled by white horses at present. And it was there, on the heath opposite me, that I saw the distant figure of a person.
I think I needed to see another human just then, even if it was just a black silhouette against the grey sky. I waved to them, but they did not return the gesture. Perhaps they did not see.
Or perhaps they chose to ignore me. Strange folk, these islanders. As hard and coarse as everything else that grows here – even Mrs Andrews, who did her best to be friendly in her own gruff way. They all have a similar look about them, whether because of hard living or inbreeding, it's difficult to say.
Supposing I wished to leave the island before my stay was up, I wonder how many of them would come to my aid.
Blast it! It seems I haven't shaken my mood after all. I feel the headache returning. I shall write more tomorrow.