ECHO 10/6/06 - Keswick

Jackdaw jackanapes on the rooftops - call and call; the ominous gloom of the previous evening over Derwentwater - a patchy swipe of memory for the birds yet a fixture for us still this morning - makes the grade - after all we survived the blizzards over the high ground on our way; the dense air and the lack of visibility - on through the snowy peaks of St. John’s Beck and Blencathra; both clear, almost etched from cloud, miraculously found - aye, jackdaws dancing, nodding on the old co-operative society building roof, gold slate in the rising sun held chiefly in the knotty palm of the Saddleback, that open gawp between peaks; there unsullied light - the beating busy heart is so far away now; here we are in the rarefied, instinctive brow of the land - changing continually; the soulful brow, burnt umber, charcoal grey where the old men in the hills part their dark eyes and watch - the sweet smell of hay, strong - Hawkrigg with its covering of down and stray sheep’s wool caught on the Hawthorn bushes - and Rydal, small lake within, yet somehow the most beautiful - two magic islands, yearning -