On a high narrow pinnacle, hundreds of feet above the sea, backed by even larger towering cliffs behind, appears the tiny, fragile figure of a woman. Even though the wind is gusting, buffeting her, she stands resolutely facing the ocean. She is at the most westerly point of land and without assistance can go no further. She has reached a human boundary; the sea is not our domain. Cries of seagulls echo warnings in the nearby zawn.
The sharp lichen thriving in the clean sea air covers every inch of the gritty platform on which she stands. She feels it digging into the soles of her feet as she ponders the vast expanse of water before her. Beyond that on the distant horizon, her Avalon, from where dreams have appeared to her in powerful waves.