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We trickle down the cobbles to the beach and pool around
In the summer, all through the village right down to the sea,
the road is swollen with cars and coaches edging along,
full of fair-weather hikers who prefer the settee and shrug it off
when their 80s slip-ons slip on 80 million years of limestone and chalk.
a rudderless fishing boat while the early evening light reaches out
Some come to imagine the duck pond and rivulet bursting
with meltwater, sculpting the valley, the cove and Stair Hole.
Some come to cheer-on the Castle, Church and B&Bs as they fix
capitalism to the slate and thatch of the place. Others do water sports.
sprinkling strokes of Impressionism over everything; but you
Some buy local crafts, fresh fish, ice cream, fudge, and some go
over Bindon Hill (England’s best butterfly spot) to Worbarrow Bay,
Tyneham (the ghost village where time stopped in 1943) or
the Fossilised Forest below. But most climb west to Durdle Door.
like sequins that cast puddles and straight forward city glitter.

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