Arbuthnott
by Prof Robert Crawford

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

Later, from Kinneff round by Dunnottar
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 perfect day. I love the North East
Everywhere of it, how it just zeros

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

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