The tide tiptoes silently away, from the cafes at the head of the harbour.
The Langoustiers come and go, before pastel painted houses.
Bright shutters enliven whitewashed walls.
Young paddle boarders pilot their craft unsteadily. Faces contorted in concentration.
All within the encircling embrace of the harbour mole. Vauban's tower at its head. The ghostly hulks, of trawlers past, run ashore, to see out their days on the shingle.
Beyond it, the waves surge up a silver sand beach; and the cliffs stretch away to Toulinguet.
Within, tranquility reigns.
No comments:
Post a Comment