St Lucas' Leap, Old Harry

Every so often, when I get rattled, I drive to Studland, and walk from South Beach to Old Harry - one April,  Anne and Penny accompanied me on this therapeutic stroll - they were familiar and calming companions -

We parked the car next to the austere and venerable church - shining blossoms overlooked the graveyard - a brave sun hung in the sky - the air was warm - we had no need of our fleeces or coats -

Fallen white petals were scattered upon the grass - a yew tree cast its shadow over tombs and gravestones - I marvelled at the massive construction of the walls and buttresses, the narrowness of the Norman windows -

We walked past trees with their new leaves - horses cropped the bright grass - before us lay Studland Bay - yachts and powerboats were anchored offshore - the sea was a languid blue, hardly moving -

We made our way along South Beach - Anne walked barefoot upon the soft white sand - a dog, straight out of Tin Tin, played at the sea's edge - families camped next to upturned dinghies -

Walking along the cliff path, I stroked a newly unfolded leaf - it was like a  wonderful jewel - from the cliffs, I saw a yawl with red sails -

At the far end of the cliff path, there was only dizzying air - you could see white cliffs, an arch cut through the chalk, a shoreline heaped with boulders - you might, if you wished, stand upon the very edge of the cliff - calling to you, far below, was the magical sea - gentle waves rippled upon its surface - cormorants dived for fish -

The gulf between the cliff face and Great Harry is called St Lucas' Leap - in my dreams, I see a swift figure, flying through the air, lithe and graceful - I sometimes follow him, the air buoying me up, all sorrows wiped away -