Dinghies nestle in the dunes. Before bungalows shuttered against the heat of the midday sun.
Tenders to diminuitive day-fishing boats. Moored in tidal rock pool harbours. Out of reach of the swell.
Parched grasses wave in the, thermally powered, ‘prairie wind’ of the Vendee. Which hums beneath its warm breath.
As it sculpts the scots pines. Whilst they hold sunshade parasols above the heads of terracotta topped holiday villas.
White surf thunders from an indigo sea. Mingling its song with that of the wind. Chanting an incantation of island magic.
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