His music. Lakeland fells. Inseperable, for me. Overwhelming both, as sunlight emerging from banked clouds. Transported. Once engaged always awed by the scale of rockface or score. To listen is to fly and soar like a bird. Spinning upwards. Turning over. Pure daydreams. As intense as scaling a peak. Looking down at the world…
Category: The Lake District
Carved in to me.
My father has taught me many things. Many explicitly. Others with a glance or soft word. A few, with no more than a flick of the eyes. Some, and maybe the most precious, wordlessly. Above all though, he has taught me patience. To strive and search for something. To wait for an experience. To savour….
