Standing in the grounds of the hotel as there’s nowhere to sit. Everything is covered in a fine layer of rain. The air smells clean, earthy, like a box of button mushrooms and the only sound is the wind rustling the leaves on the trees. Even the birds are fed up with the incessant wetness. They sit huddled on branches and dry stone walls, their feathers puffed up.
Is this really summer? The only animals that seem to like this weather are the Llamas in the field next to the hotel. They lay down on the wet grass and click their tongues at each other. I guess if I had a thick wooly coat like that I wouldn’t mind it so much either!
The Lake District…a place loved by writers, poets. An inspiration to artists so they keep telling me. But is that because it just seems so miserable? A place that suits a tortured soul? Perhaps I’m just not depressed enough to appreciate it. I just want to go home now, back to my concrete town where everyone shops at Icelands and where the Llamas would be well advised to wear a bullet proof vest over that warm wooly coat.
No seriously, it’s a beautiful place but I didn’t find it as inspiring as I thought I would, or was told I would. Perhaps it was just too cold and wet? It got me thinking, what place would I find inspiring? And it has to be the beach, no doubt about it
What kind of place do you find inspiring?
- Write from the Heart in the Lake District (mufidahkassalias.com)