Mostly the surface is hard and stony but often cropped grass softens the step

Paths between hamlets and villages scoured by countless feet over centuries

Inspiring stanzas and outpourings of romantic verse

Passing through a squeaking rusty kissing gate hung with Ivy the way enters a wood

Tarn and Mere flood the valley bottom mirroring the surrounding mountains

Geese shatter the reflection honking as they fly in to land breaking the water’s surface

Grey Heron still as a stick on the water’s edge, eyes watching from its plumedhead

A stick with tension, a dagger poised to strike on sprung steel legs

Slicing moment, splat, wriggling fish quickly swallowed before moving on

Soaring over sunlit cliffs a Buzzard, fingered wings spread wide mews to his mate

Plaintive call echoing in tree tops flayed of leaves by winter storms.

Large ancient Oaks clinging to thin rocky soil with exposed roots like clenched fists

Older skeleton trees silhouetted against the blue grey sky

Trunks hollowed out by Woodpeckers providing cover for nesting Owls

Rotting stumps amongst the withered stems of Daffodils

In the village churchyard amongst Yews and the grey slate gravestones of poets

A Goldcrest flits and twits, the metallic bright sound of Britain’s smallest bird

Dropping and landing on Wordsworths simple stone

The resting place of a lake poet