Several times a day the shuffling gait of old Davy Hawkins could be seen silhouetted against the angry skies framing his beloved cliffs. While Davy may have been past his athletic prime, his bouncing young dog was still full of life. Time and again Davy would send a bright orange star tumbling end over end; time and again a sprinting flash of black and white would return it to her waiting owner.
When the Hawkins had first moved into their bungalow the cliff face was well over 200 yards away. Even back then many didn’t want to live that close to the edge, but Davy shrugged off such concerns. Forty years later the cliff face is just 20 yards away from the home Davy shares with his faithful collie.
Outside the house a crowd has gathered. Camera bulbs flash, a desperate police officer appeals over a tannoy for the onlookers to stay back. As the yellow security tape ruffles in the breeze a single light glows beyond the frosted glass of the bungalow’s side door. Slowly it opens and out into the frosty darkness spins and twists an orange star, closely followed by a blur of black and white.
The door of Davy’s house closes once more. Down below an enormous wave crashes into the bluff; the 20 yards between his house and the sea are no more.
These words form my entry into this week’s Sunday Photo Fiction challenge.