The Sound of Silence

Today begins with breakfast before meeting for worship at 9am, after which I spend the day in silence . It's a great way to spend a day totally focussed on seeking inspiration and listening, instead of talking.

The day is ours to do with as we will, without feeling the need to be anywhere at any particular time. Some of the group are using this as a "monastic day", and have already attended the 3.30 am service in the chapel. I'm still spellbound by the island and want to get more photos in the spells of good weather after feeling a bit constrained yesterday. So I've decided I can do the morning service tomorrow and head off to the beach before breakfast to start the day "right". It's so peaceful here, the island is closed on Sunday, so no day trippers from the mainland. The beach is deserted, not surprising really at 6.30am and it's still grey and overcast - but it can change so quickly here.

I'm careful to walk where my footsteps won't show in any photos, a memory of watching Robinson Crusoe when I was a teenager rises in my mind, and the footprints in the sand evoke a mixed sense of hope and unease at there being others on the island. The tide is well up so after a few minutes watching the oystercatchers at the headland I turn back, breakfast is calling. I return to the Retreat House and am welcomed at the door by a pheasant sitting on a tree stump and ducks wandering around the pond.

As the meeting closes, we sink into another silence, and I leave on another pilgrimage to explore. Taking the main - only - road to the lighthouse I pass the old Priory and take a left out across the fields to explore the Eastern side of the island. No one around for the first hour, the only sound is the deep roar of the waves crashing over the rocks below, and even that is carried away on the wind for long spells. The sky is full of drama, with massive banks of cumulus building over Tenby and the mainland, but for the moment it's clear over Caldey.

I meet a few of the group, individually, out following the footpaths around the perimeter of the island. Sunday lunch today so I decide enough is as good as a feast and head back to catch lunch just before 1pm. I've been out the best part of three hours but there's still plenty of inspiration, including sheeps wool on the barbed wire fence which reminds me of Lucy and the bag she made for Marian.

No "could you pass the ..." as we settle for our first silent meal together. Even the delicious trifle doesn't elicit any comment, and I wander off after helping with the washing up to have my siesta. A relaxation/meditation becomes a post prandial doze in the best traditions of Sunday afternoons, and it's nearly 4pm when I surface again. Time for another walk.

I open the door as M and L hurry indoors as the heavens open and even the ducks head for cover. Maybe a walk isn't such a good idea? M rushes out to rescue his daysack from the garden, dripping on return. We called these sun showers when I was a kid, sure to pass soon, so I brave it and head out. Shelter in the village is shared with M outside the perfume shop, and we both look for photo opportunities in the rain.

I risk a further stroll through the woodland, out to the eastern cliff with the views t Gower and Worms Head. The skies are thick with cloud, but the air is clear and the greens are rich, deep and vibrant.

Supper is followed by closing meeting, where we're advised that the cargo boat will be calling at 7.15am tomorrow but there's no confirmation of any trip boats afterwards. Several of the group have onward trains to catch and are keen to leave on the cargo boat; I'm so relaxed into the island I don't mind if I get stranded here for a few more days and elect to catch a later boat . Whatever happens, I'd like to spend the morning on the island to say farewell properly.