Yesterday evening, I treated myself to a dose of landscape loveliness. For half an hour, in the gap between teaching a private pupil and going to Physiotherapy, I luxuriated in a sensual oasis of beauty and peace.
I drove to Uphill Sands – and sat, in the car and with the windows wide open, feasting eyes and ears upon the scene before me.
The sea, a rippling garment of wild grey silk, waves frothing like silvery Cappuccino in a glory of fading sun, twinkled beneath its muscular sullenness. Brean Down (shown in the image above) slumbered, a sinuous green dragon stretched out upon its horde of magical treasure, Steepholm a mere hatchling, its egg shell still wet, in comparison.
The Old Pier, still vibrant thirty years ago, seemed to lurk sinisterly in a dark shadow, as if hiding from the radiance all around it. Deepening gold birds of light…
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