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by Prof Robert Crawford


Gales churn cornfields to a golden stushie,
North Sea haar docks the North Sea.

Later, from Kinneff round by Dunottar
Heat vectors everywhere. Stunned kirks surmount

Peninsulas of cloud, wisps of the land.
Sound is a Triumph Herald, crickets. South,

Brechin Round Tower soars, a slim
Minaret of the Mearns.

On the swings, one minute
Feet on the ground, the next all up in the air,

I catch how Kincardineshire sky's
Transvaalish, Budapesty, Santa Barbaran,

Zurich on a perfecct day. I love the North Eastq
Everywhere of it, how it just zeros

On and on, then flauchters back
So zircon, so azure, so Alice blue.

Last brought up to date 13:13 20/09/02


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