After having seen what was beginning to feel like a million menhirs in a matter of minutes (such is their frequency) the sight of a dolmen was too good to miss. It wasn't clear where the dolmen was; all we had was the sign by the field edge and we couldn't see it at all. Moth stomped off down the field anyway – surely we'd bump into it. But we didn't.
The maize in the next field was tall and ready for harvest. Moth stood on a rock to gain height and survey the landscape. It was only by getting this extra height that Moth could see Poulyot's capstone. I was standing only metres away from the dolmen but couldn't see it for the crop. We scrambled over the brambly field boundary. The farmer had helpfully left an uncropped section so we could reach it this dreamy dolmen easily.
And four large granite slabs of picture perfect proportions sparkled in the September sun.