Mysterious Studland

Twilight has always seemed to me to be a magical time - a time between worlds - shadows lengthen, whilst the last rays of light fall from the sky - streets become corridors for ghosts - you can hear voices in empty gardens - you become aware of the fragility and beauty of things - how your life is a dream -

In December, I walked along the beach at Studland with Anne - the sun had just set behind the dunes - the sea was almost motionless - small lazy waves rippled onto the smooth sand - the sky and the sea were stained a light, delicate, red -

I felt that I had been transported, to be within a Caspar Friedrich painting - there was the same light, the same melancholy, the same sky and sea -

A yacht was moored, in the lee of Old Harry - a water skier zoomed past, far out from the shore, like a tense exotic seabird -

Darkness gathered over the woods beyond the beach - sea and sky met in a blur of beautiful light - the thin dark line of the horizon was, I thought, that country to which my soul would fly -