Portland, Dorset: The gentle greens and yellows of our last visit are now bleached and tarnished, tall grasses faded to blond, wood spurge dried to rust
A stone archway, framing sea and sky. The threshold to another world, a world unsuspected by visitors hurrying over the windswept plateau to the Bill, Portland’s beak-like southern tip.
Under the eye of Rufus Castle, we wander down between spindly ivy-sashed trees and warm, lichened walls bright with valerian, to the cove where shuttered beach huts curve round a bank of big, pale stones. The sense of otherness increases. Earlier this year, we were met by the sight of three pebble minarets silhouetted against the waves. If we hadn’t taken photos, we’d have thought we had dreamed them.
Source: The Guardian
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