Cirrus@Austlit

'The house wasn't always right on the lip of the cliff but, in the big storm after Dad left, a wall of sandstone sheered away and crumbled into the sea below, taking with it most of the yellow gravel driveway and the front steps. The steps left a dark hole in the verandah foundation like a gap from a missing tooth but no-one could see it except gulls hovering in the cliff's updraught. The verandah slumped its shoulders at the loss and you had to keep the peeling wooden railing firmly in your grip to peer over the edge. Down there, stone lay in segments, some in the water, some out, some already sand washing up on the beach to the south. Thick cat -o-nine- tails of giant kelp dried on top of the stone blocks. Seaweed pong mixed with powerful ocean smell, rising as solid as a wall of glass in front of the house. The grainy stickiness of salt lay everywhere. Waves pounded at the foot of the cliff, sending frissons up through house stumps, the noise such that everyone raised their voices slightly until it seemed natural to speak that way. If you stood in the house and looked out, sea filled windows as if it were rising up the glass in a flood. ' (Introduction)