Hello! Welcome back to something a bit more in the usual spirit of the Salty Sea Blog. I can't keep dragging this space down with lamentations of sad break up feels so it's time to revert back to some sort of normality here and share a recent exploration. Today we are venturing to a spot of different coastline, one quite different to my own dearest playground of pirate coves and crumbling scrubby cliffs that are to be found in South Cornwall. The White Chalk Cliffs are a sight that has fascinated me somewhat over the last few years and one of my favourite features of quintessentially English countryside. You won't find this sort of coastline where I'm from and there is something so compelling and attractive about it; the colour pallets of white on aquamarine with the little caps of bright green grass, it's just something I've always found charming since the first time I saw them. I've looked for excuses time and time again to photograph the chalk cliffs and got my first chance last summer when I went to Beachy Head near Eastbourne further up the south coast in the East. This weekend, I got my second chance when I visited Dorset and spent the Sunday doing exactly what perfect Sunday's are for in my world: sunny afternoon explores & frolicking by the sea.
Tuesday, 11 April 2017
Tuesday, 28 March 2017
Thursday, 9 March 2017
Saturday, 21 January 2017
It's not often I find myself day dreaming of winter days during the summer months, but if I do, I dream of days like today. I have very mixed opinions of January, we are such a quarrelsome pair. But we're learning to live with each other and respect each other. Kind of. Maybe. Sort of.
Sunday, 1 January 2017
I suppose it's a bit late now. I had intended to share a documentary of our Christmas day; how we rose, and celebrated and rested. But when I woke up that morning, I knew I didn't want to pick up my camera, I didn't want to record moments, I wanted to live only in them. So I logged off for the day, or a couple of days, or a week.
Wednesday, 14 December 2016
Monday, 5 December 2016
These downs are a curious place, an old place place. Older than the villages that surround it, untouched and left to be wild. Older than any of the structures and marks left by lives now finished, scattered across the heathland. Perhaps there are reasons why nobody wished to tame this wild place, maybe out of respect, fear or practicality because they go on for seemingly ever.
There are most mysterious tales that surround the downs, local legends that are still as thriving as the unique species of plants that grow on the heath. There aren't just rare orchids and leeches to be found in these parts, but also derelict cottages belonging to highwaymen hundreds of years ago, abandoned gardens of unmarked graves and stories of ghost sightings along the great stretch of road that passes through.
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