Branscombe

My dearest cousin took us to Branscombe in West Devon.
Like fronds of fern I felt unfurled as I imbibed a glass of crisp Chardonnay in the inn, whilst warm sunshine beat the keen breeze.

We wandered past creamy-cup-yellow primroses not yet paling into insignificance.
The West Country is a renowned region for primroses of which there are two varieties.

We looked in awe at rock formation on a Jurassic coastline constantly under erosion. No time to climb the steep hill, as I had done before. I remember when I had to be pushed on the base of my spine... but now I could do it solo, I know!

We sat enjoying the sea incoming, which dared our toes to keep us seated as it beat at pebbles, as we watched it ricochet along a beachline, spring tide breaking stone upon stone.