“Imagine this:
“Gray cliffs scabbed over with maquis. Becalmed sea lapping at the black tide-line. Seagulls flocking on every inch of rock, cawing and eating and shitting. Round the peak and there’s an inlet, hidden in the morning mist and the midday shadow and the twilight fog. When it’s...
This site uses cookies to help personalise content, tailor your experience and to keep you logged in if you register.
By continuing to use this site, you are consenting to our use of cookies.