My favourite place to write is looking out onto the fells of the Lake District, as the clouds roll past the tops casting shadows on my laptop below.
As I sit, the peacefulness of the countryside is intermitantly disturbed by the sounds of crows, blackbirds and even a woodpecker in various degrees.
I type words on the piece I’m currently writing and feel a total sense of calm sitting amongst nature that is spread out in front of me. Fields of wild grass, fir trees and lines of oak trees shape the foreground while the rounded fells rise up from crags and slate in the distance. The slope up looks smooth yet challenging with its height into the sky. I can just see small movement on one vertical side, it’s joined by more movement and I can barely make out that looking for the best places to graze are the sheep. They stand a while chewing, no-doubt as relaxed as I am by the scenery that is their home.
A breeze picks up and I can feel it on my face, and in my hair. It’s warm against the heat of the afternoon sun making its way around me as I sit here looking out. The sheep must have moved on to another patch to eat, there is now an empty space where they stood.
The view is serene. I notice myself looking up from my work ever so often wondering if I’m missing something. But I am not. There is nothing to miss as the breeze sweeps across the wild grass meadow in front of me. A butterfly is caught on the current and is brought closer towards where I am sat. It’s bright orange and green wings beating hard to gain a sense of direction again. Another butterfly of the same colouring floats by the in the opposite direction. The pair meet and do a dance together mid-air before heading in separate directions again into the meadow of grass.
I type some more, my mind is relaxed and I let whatever comes into my mind flow out through my fingertips. The breeze dissipates and a break in the clouds bring allows a window of uninterrupted sunshine which hits my skin like a warm blanket.
The sheep are back on the fell again, I can hear them bleeting in the distance. They are moving down the rocks and scree to find more greenery to eat. Two become five and they move down slowly together stopping here and there not to miss anything.
I feel at home in this view, where the grass will change colour over the year and the tree’s will lose their leaves. It is at once moving and staying still.
My favourite place to write is in the Lake District.