We turned back at the sign marking the start of the naturists' beach -
There were no young gods today, jogging through the waves, rucksacks upon their backs -
No Amazons cartwheeled across the sand - no leathery men stood, like meerkats, amongst the dunes -
An icy wind stung our faces - the pale sun was low in the sky -
We sat near the wood burning stove in the National Trust cafe -
This evening, Anne would go wassailing in an orchard at Winterbourne Strickland -
Fires would be lit under the apple trees - the waxing moon would be caught in their lichened branches -
Later, the singers would drink mulled wine - sparks would rise upwards from the fires -
Their songs would celebrate the ancient dance -
The old year would clasp the new -
12.00
Saturday 16 January 2016
Knoll Beach
Studland
Dorset
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