A slate roofed gîte stands high above us. Its sky blue shutters closed. Nobody is home.
Silence abounds. Broken only by the splash of oar strokes, as I row ashore.
Landing, with a soft scrunch, on the golden sand beach, of Port Kerel.
A path clambers, through cascading undergrowth, to the clifftop.
On the headland, Atlantic combers announce their arrival, from America, with a roar. Which mingles with that of the wind.
In her cleft of granite, Stargazer lies serene. Untroubled by wind or wave.
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