It's Friday evening. The sun is setting on a working week. It paints Old Harry a honeyed gold. Stargazer swings contentedly at anchor. I sit reflectively, eating my supper and drinking in the view.
A regal bird of passage alights for Saturday breakfast; before silently taking wing again, bound for some distant shore.
The morning sun glints off cobalt sea and silvered sand. Lone dog walkers are joined by gregarious sun bathers. Beach boats race, excitedly, around the stately anchored visitors, like so many playful children.
Sea mist swirls around Harry's shoulders. The Poole shore, The Island, and even the green dome of Ballard Down's summit, disappear from view.
We are left: sparkling summer butterflies; basking in the sunshine, within our silky white cocoon, of sea mist.
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Location:Studland Bay
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