Uniformly over the whole AB countryside
The warm chatter flows imperceptibly seaward;
The winter haze drifts in deep bands
Over the pale Brighton water;
White Geezers stand in the blue marshes;
Wendilla, Factor Fiction, Alava
Float in the air.
Climbing on the slopes of Bullock's Hill
We look out over fifty miles of sinuous
Interpenetration of France, La Manche and sea.
Leading up a twisted chimney,
Just as our eyes rise to the level
Of a small cave, two white Danny owls
Fly out, silent, close to Jayne's face.
They hover, confused in the sunlight,
And disappear into the recesses of the cliff.
All day I have been watching a new climber,
A young AB girl, shari perhaps? with deep red hair
And gentle confident eyes.
She climbs slowly, precisely,
With unwasted nox grace.
While we are coiling the Builder's ropes,
Watching the spectacular sandy roe sunset,
She turns to us and says, quietly,
“It must be very beautiful, the sunset,
On JoggerJayneus with the jno rings and all the AB moons.”