The last rays of the sun brush the very tops of the dark trees with flame. The blue sky is covered with threads and broken webs and tattered white veils of thin, high cloud.

Yucca plants originate in arid, dry deserts and for once the large yucca on the cliff is feeling entirely at home. It has produced a tall inflorescence of paper white bell-like flowers. It is one of the few flowers enjoying the heat.

The bay is a huge silver mirror, barely rippled at the edges but reflecting the palest of pale blue evening skies. A mauve haze describes the entire horizon which fades up into pink and then a pale green.

Among the various styles of lamposts that edge the paths are two that are decorated with Art Deco date palm motifs and would appear to be originals from the 1920s or thirties.

It is a secret time here on the West Cliff Green. Just after the sun has burst into the sky and before the runners and dog walkers have emerged. In full daylight but with the benches still empty like some stage set at the beginning of a big play.

The mornings are a little fresher. The shadows are a little deeper. The birds are singing a little louder. As we move towards the height of summer.

There are green spaces still. Beneath the canopies of the sweet chestnuts and sycamores. Hemmed in by the tall dark pines.

The view through the pines and over the cliff is joyful. The blue waters of Poole Bay shiver with excitement and appear decorated with uncountable sequins that spark and glitter.

For the first time in many weeks, a Great tit calls out its see-sawing song from the branches of one of the pines.

The clouds push and shove across the blue sky in heaps and pillows. There are Teddy Bears, Snow men and jousting knights. There is a camel backed by a weasel and something resembling a whale. Very like a Whale.

A fine, misty drizzle fills the dawn air. It is not rain, as such, but it gathers on the leaves of the trees enough to patter down in big drops when walking under the pines and holm oaks.

The summer has transformed from oven temperature heat at the beginning of July to humid grey heat for the last few weeks and now, ith the turn into August it seems as though the year has reached the drowsy heat of High Summer. The blue sky is braided with high, white streaks of cloud and the wind has become gentler and a little fresher.

Before the row of flats (exclusive sea views) that line the upper edge of the West Cliff Green was a row of hotels, some grand, some grander ( sea bathing nearby) and before them in the mid nineteenth century a dignified row of Gentleman’s Residences. (Healthful sea breezes and pine walks).

A clear blue sky splashed with white as if from a careless decorator’s bucket. A slight breeze keeps the little waves in motion. They scintillate and wink in the morning sun as early bathers bob about.

The sunlight dapples through the branches of the tall, dark pines. The sounds of the day are soaked up by the carpet of pine needles and leaf litter. This time of year the birds are mostly silent except for the crows which are just finding their voices again after the summer lay off.

The sky changes as the day progresses. At first as lumpy as a cobbled pub courtyard, then filmy and ragged as Miss Havisham’s wedding dress and, by the evening, a true mackerel sky.

The grey dawn is the time for the keepfit and wellness chasers even before the dog walkers get going. Two big men are lying on yoga mats rockingtheir knees from side to side in a languidly impatient way as they might do if their mothers had told them they have to wait half an hour until breakfast is ready.

The old pine seems to sag under the weight of the summer day. A lumpy grey eiderdown stretches from horizon to horizon. The air is warm and humid.