Sunday, 4 May 2014

Abbotsbury Castle, forgotten names and songs ...




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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