In Langdon’s case, the ‘somewhere else’ is a wintry, snow-bound Austria, as different as could be from the Australia of childhood and family, where ‘the air is grained with light / & you step through it / past the quince tree strung / with prehistoric fruit’. The European poems have a kind of magic clinging to them, like woodcuts from a book of folk tales inked in black. In a limited-edition chapbook printed on beautifully textured paper, the effect is all the greater.

‘Late snow lines the branches of trees, its glitter / not as I’d imagined,’ Langdon writes early in the book, and this surprise continues, and returns with her to Australia, woven through the book as the weft to the warp of beach, bush, and suburban life, in which ‘on the street where magnolias flower indecently, / children are drawing a hopscotch map / in pink and aqua chalk’.

The book as a whole is a kind of hymn to the usefulness of our experiences: they are to be remembered, learned from, and held in memory in the way that makes most sense to us, but never regretted. One unexpected pleasure is the way the endpapers rustle and crackle as the book moves, just as the poems do. You don’t get that with an e-reader.