Bank Holiday – August 2022 saw a random decision to visit the stunning Lake District. The weather was more than kind, granting me the boon of long sunny warm days for my exploration.
Staying in a little town called Seascale on the west coast, I explored beaches, forests, waterfalls and stone circles, and made the obligatory visit to Grasmere and the home of William Wordsworth.
The only other time I had visited here was on a family holiday, around 7 years old. A place I then avoided for it held personal memories I had no wish to exhume – but they needed to be exorcised, and I can honestly say the only way to exorcise your demons is to face them.
The funniest highlight of the trip was typically when I didn’t have access to my camera! A cheeky red squirrel hoped in front of my car, undaunted by the roar of my V6 Mustang engine, and made me wait until he was ready to move on…..nature is all powerful!
The Lakes are, without doubt, one of the places where you do not need the TV or any electronic distractions to fill your day. Beautiful, energetic, peaceful.
Man’s imprint is being thwarted by mountainous nature, / monstrous in her exceptional beauty, / loud in her serenity.
Gaia and Goddess live here, spring eternal here.
We are the trespassers, interlopers. / The death of Middle Earth cannot come here, so deeply entrenched in rude wilderness and northern winds, it will survive us. / It’s a different realm.
The playful sprites of home have stayed behind, the pipe-smoking dwarves of the mountains rule here, dryads in some places near the shimmer of sun-kissed lakes, within woods.
Mysticism is hiding, waiting the call only from those who know its power, not to be unleashed unwittingly by those who play in ignorance. / Nature is protected here within the arms of Goddess, the basic nature of fauna, flower.
We are tolerated more than welcomed. We feel challenged, determined to overcome, but we will not.
She will not allow it. / Mankind will be thwarted in its refusal to co-exist
I am at once and singularly bewitched, entranced, lost in thought and place. Oh, I can find my spot upon the map, but I choose not to do so unless travelling to the next destination – and there are so many I fear I may forget which is next and which has been visited, so overwhelmed am I by the onslaught to my senses.
A silken wing floats effortlessly to the river. Seemingly calm in its sun-spotted crests atop pebbles, belying the strength it holds in its unceasing currents. The demons and soul-shadows I have carried with me are now truly exorcised, released wraiths of the past.
Elementals, ethereal essences hold my hands and watch my steps through wooded walks. These may be planted by our own hands, but they have taken possession, ownership, and created their sanctuaries and play-lands where they can tease, or hide, or instruct at will.
Blessed to have my eyes touched by sights and knowledge of the Fae as I ask forgiveness for bending stems and bruising leaves across the trails. Permission sought, and granted, to touch trees, absorb the vibrancy pulsing through and allowing it into my veins; my hands are warm still from such wholesome embrace and twining connections of being.
At Castlerigg Stones, skies brood threatening rain, for which I am not bothered. Fairies and imps weave their threads here, but groan at the noisy disrespect of human boots and hand which climb and take photos, oblivious of the offerings which belong here. Occasionally a child falls from a stone, and I wonder if with help from a begrudging elemental.
Some young couples reflect there, it seems a special escape for them, their burgeoning love feels right here.
I leave my intention for the world at nymph graced waterfalls, and bring with me a heart blessed by such beauty no words can express. A coin cast into this fairy pool is payment in meagre kind for the bounty with which the Fae my heart embraced.
How little time do we take to sit, reflect, ignore the clock’s chime? / Patience needs by our byword, experience, our endeavour, / to truly know we have lived to its fullest this life we have with nature, together.
“The wind was my cloak, hugged tight / Striding the hills / Bruised pink glow brushes purple clouds clouding Day’s end / Awaiting the moon / The skyline rests awhile on the silhouette of church and castle”
Dearest Wordsworth – Your words are the worth of our souls. The visit to William Wordsworth house was fascinating. As much as I knew about his poetry, his life and beliefs were intriguing and provoked much thought – a recommended visit if you’re ever up that way.
How brave, stoic, proud the delicate flower stands atop Dove Cottage’s grassy mound.
All too soon I was due to return, with tired feet and a full soul. My trip took me to Seascale, Ravenglass, a medieval weekend at Muncaster Castle, eerie stones at Castlerigg, Grasmere, Aira Force waterfalls and past Derwent water, so here are a selection of additional images which have inspired poetry and meditations since.
My next visit……you’ll have to come back and see
Pixie Muse Poetry & Prose 