Dandelion 70

 

The waves roll in from Newfoundland. Bursting high against the southern shore of the Ile d’Yeu.

Where I picinic beneath a granite tor. Out of the reach of the north wind.

Below me, a sun trap cove. Man Friday footsteps imprinted, upon its golden sands.

It nestles within the sweep of a larger bay. Bitten into the cliffs. An appetiser, for the gnawing hunger, of the Atlantic ocean. From the centre of the island, Le Grand Phare (lighthouse) stands watch.

Heathland runs to the cliff edge, on this side of Yeu. A coastal path following its indentations. Dropping onto the beach, from time to time, to cross clefts, before clambering aloft once more.

Birdsong mingles with the crash of waves. On this remote and rugged corner of the isle. The air clear and fresh. Thoughts free to roam.