The ferry turns and powers away from England in a soft haze that mutes the whiteness of the chalk, rendering the cliffs as almost inverted shadows.
A mirror image the other side of the channel as mist solidifies into landforms.
Heat bounces from the road. The snap, crackle, and pop of bubbling tarmac.
Waves of green and a sky crowded with white butterflies bouncing about on the skylark’s song.
Ra- Ra- Rasputin blares from a radio in a bar on a town square, then echoes from a car window at the end of the street.
Missing the hotel opposite the junction and going around the block. A World Cup quarter-final on TV and supermarket picnic on the bed.
Long straight roads through the hinterland and docks.
Bridge raised for a barge. About turn, find another way around. A tiltshift world, building block containers in glowing white and primary colours. Across rivers and inlets. The climbing starts.
Headlands and hairpins.
Headless turbines fold the cool sea fret. A brief relief from the heat.