On the Downs above Kingston

Pausing to perch on the usual stile,

I turn away from the usual view

That looks out into the far distance

Over curvaceous slopes – the Downs

Meandering above the valley,

The catch of chalk cliff, the cars visible

On road underneath.  I know

Where it goes; bears them on to the sea

Travelling east under a wide sky.

 

No, I’m swivelled round, scanning

The left-hand view – straight

Up the hill, the grass close-nibbled

By sheep, by rabbits, where I drop my gaze

Into the field you do not cross

When flocks are grazing there.

The eye travels up to the

Close-in vista of a bumpy hill

And, beyond the field’s end,

The dark clumps of trees.

This angle disappears into

Woodland.  You do not know where

It leads to.  Neither do I.