Walking towards Abbotsbury, along the South Dorset Ridgeway, I felt as though I was close to the sky, far from my well ordered house, my soothing routines of lattes, my gentle explorations of memory -
Here, we passed by tumuli, bright turf under our feet, saw lonely farm houses, gazed down at the ancient sea - sheep cropped the grass - dark birds circled overhead -
The Ridgeway passed close to Abbotsbury Castle - we'd seen its sleek chalk hull for some time - ramparts enclosed the summit of a hill - there were a few wind sculpted trees within the enclosure -
We stood before the south western entrance to the hill fort, high above the world - I could see the shingle wall of Chesil Beach, the dim outline of the Isle of Portland - there was the silver blade of The Fleet -
I thought of the tribesmen who had shaped this place, trying to summon up their names and songs, but I only heard the wind -
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