The trail along the sandstone cliff is only gently visible even though well traveled over the crumbling hard surface. There is often a sense of groundlessness, almost vertigo, if one completely releases themselves from the many small visual clues in the landscape. Here is the trail. There is the last rock at the edge. That is the sea. Here is an arbutus tree. I am upright. I am sitting on a log. However, this particular trail can release my mind from what it thinks it knows. My hands can reach out and my arms can pull my cheek to touch the unexpected coolness of the arbutus tree as I pass. Ravens drop sprigs of berries from the tall reaching branches far above. Their calls mix with the lapping of the sea while I place each foot carefully with awareness of how it rolls over the surface, catching the movement as the sole of my shoe slides unexpectedly over a dry twig. I pause. I am alive. Very much alive.