The White Cliffs.

Three hundred and thirty feet high,
the white cliffs beckon.
I ran towards them as a child,
excited to see them lit by the sun,
and still they call.

Across the bay, away in the distance,
they are always there,
hiding softly in the mist,
floating above a roaring sea,
shouting in the glow of late afternoon.
A careless line of gleaming chalk
stretched across the far distance,
to watch and wait.

IMG_0050IMG_0138IMG_0015

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

IMG_8586Img_2198

IMG_0280IMG_0108

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s