Durdle Door, Dorset.

Poem.

 

Pounding,

blasting,

swirling,

eddying,

penetrating,

attritional waves

have

hit,

smashed,

targeted,

gouged,

penetrated,

dissolved,

eroded

and enlarged,

cracks and lines of weakness,

in this Portland Limestone promontory,

for eons.

A crack became

a channel,

an enclave,

a hollow,

a hole.

And that hole grew millimetre by millimetre,

over millions of years.

But enough of this geomorphological minutiae.

It’s just a beautiful spot.

End of.

(and one day, some time, when it collapses, it will become “Durdle Stack.”)

 

 

 

Done