Op igen

I bunden er der ikke andet at gøre end at vende om og klatre op igen. Det går meget langsommere op end ned, og det er hårdere, end hun havde troet. Hun stopper to gange på vejen. Begge gange lader hun, som om hun stopper for at se på udsigten.

At the bottom there is nothing to do but turn around and climb back up. Going up is much slower than going down, and it is harder than she expected. She stops twice on the way. Both times she pretends that she is stopping to look at the view.

På et af de våde nederste trin sidder et albueskæl. Det sidder i en lille fordybning i stenen. Fordybningen har nøjagtig samme form som dets skal. Albueskællet er kommet tilbage til det samme sted i årevis og har langsomt lavet sig en plads der. Om natten går det ud for at spise. Hver morgen finder det hjem igen.

On one of the wet lower steps there is a limpet. It is sitting in a small dip in the stone. The dip has exactly the shape of its shell. The limpet has come back to that same place for years, and slowly made a seat there. It goes out at night to eat. Every morning it finds its way home again.

Fra toppen kan hun se øerne ude i vandet. De er helt anderledes. Denne klippe er bleg kalksten, fuld af huller og grotter. De øer er lyserød granit, store glatte runde sten, der ligger oven på hinanden.

From the top she can see the islands out in the water. They are completely different. This cliff is pale limestone, full of holes and caves. Those islands are pink granite, big smooth round rocks piled on top of each other.

Polly sidder på den gamle mur og kigger en sidste gang ned i udhugningen i klippen. Næsten to hundrede trin, lavet med hånden, ned ad en klippe til en kop koldt vand. Så flyver hun nordpå langs kysten.

Polly sits on the old wall and looks down the cut in the rock one last time. Almost two hundred steps, made by hand, going down a cliff to a cup of cold water. Then she flies north along the coast.