Overcast, cool, wet day perfect for swimming. With only a few people in the cove and three pole-fishermen, hoping to catch something in the dim light. The sea is so still, utterly tranquil and no other person is there in the water.

Reaching out and cutting through the surface skin is like the beginning of time, and the slow dripping of a tap, not quite turned off.

The excitement of being almost alone in the cove is very motivating. To strike out for the cove-entrance brought a mixture of delight and slight dread. The water is nearly green, and velvety to the touch. A few breakers crash apologetically against the end rocks, a half-hearted attempt to break out and be free.

I swam three times in and out of the space, just to savour the moment and the luxury of the deserted water, like the pools between worlds in a deserted forest. This huge Aslan’s pool pulls me in and I can hardly let go. Perhaps I don’t want to…

A cool day and cooler water, that circles into the very small bay.

Brown rocks, still jagged at the tops, sport a black and orange water-line, where lichen and sea grasses cling to survive. A rocky, stony beach leads into deep water, for excellent swimming. Further out towards a blue horizon, the colours turn deep purple and black, and fear mounts in this unknown territory. As I swim level with the small headland, the adjacent cove can be seen with the marina, just down the coast.

This deep is an inkwell, as deep as it is wide, and the Russian blue and inky purple write the depths of mercy, who’s darkness can also bring fear.

The water is beautiful and the close proximity of the unyielding stone is atmospheric and dangerous. Stretching out, on the journey back, the relief brings out the sun, which instantly lightens the scene. I swim as a denizen rising out of the water and gaining “land legs” after dwelling in the deep.