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Stations Around Grasmere

‘our minds are nourished and invisibly repaired’
The Prelude XXII (1805) – William Wordsworth

Walk around the lake
feeling the blast
of the lorries
as they rush past.
It takes about
a mile to escape
their barrelling progress.
Then you bear right
into the trees,
to the head of the lake.

Stand and look back
towards the town,
the gentleness of the warm day
making the view shimmer,
softening the hardness of the stare
that has creased your mind.

In the distance
the lion and the lamb,
are lying down in the heat
and the dog beside you
is panting and licking
at the water’s edge,
the fluid and solid elements
of your life
softly speaking
in this moment of disclosure.

As you continue around
the edge of the lake
the tree-line favours the shore
and the path curves through it
showing the way
your view is often impeded,
asking you to gaze inward
through mossy trunks
and tender saplings.

Gates and a steep path
lead you back up to the road
and you lose
the easy views of the lake
as you are displaced
by so many travelling
in the opposite direction.

Hug the mossy walls
and try to keep out of the way
as the cars full of tourists
sweep past you,
calm the dog
and make sure
his leash is short.
Own that constriction
is part of your walk.

Re-enter the town you left
a couple of hours ago
and try to preserve
that settling sensation
coming off the water
and down from Helm Crag.

Go to the poet’s grave
in the church yard;
the joined lives of
brother and sister
creating spots of time
that echo in these lakes and fells.

Stand with your hand
in someone’s
who has trudged with you
and feel the hot breath
of a walked dog,
relish that you too
have breathed with
the mere and the crag.

It is the gift of this
landscape, the long walked
romantic intuitions and
your faith in water and stone
that replenishes and
somehow mends.