Well anyway, to get back to that story:
Walking back from the cliffs I had to duck in and out of the fields because the path wasn’t in such good condition. See, the cliffs keep crumbling, and the path’s going with them. There was one spot on that walk, where the land folded down toward the ocean and was full of wildflowers, that only an artist could have thought of. I held my breath in case it wasn’t real.
Eventually I made it to a big sign facing away from me. It said something to the point of “Extremely Dangerous Cliffs Ahead: Proceed at Your Own Risk.” And it was pointing back toward the way I’d came. A lot of help that sign was!
But I figured if that was the dangerous part, I might as well keep going. I ended up cutting inland when the path got too hard to follow, and slogging through a lot of mud. And walking through a field with a bull and his harem. Believe me, if I’d seen them in time to turn back I would have; but it seemed just as well to walk on, looking real submissive.
I wouldn’t recommend this path to many people. It’s not easy and it’s not safe. And you have to walk through the private land of sixteen different farmers. I learned that from a farmer as I walked through his land. We talked all about it, and how some public group ought to maintain the path.
But if it’d been dry out, I’d take it again in a heartbeat. I would have missed too many things by driving.