Our hearts pound as we plod our way up the mountain.
There is nothing quite like climbing a mountain; the taste of clouds, and the feeling of them burning like a cool fire in your lungs.
There is nothing quite like an adventure to a somewhat familiar, but somewhat distant place. Just safe enough.
Just wild enough.
Where mist rises every morning, and sheep are always a little soggy, and the land is just
and so old,
and so lush.
It’s like paradise, but much less hot.
Still, blood bubbles in our veins and feeds those muscles we don’t really use as much as we should.
And we can hear it.
It reverberates in our ears, echoing like the thunderstorms crashing down from the summits.
A sudden gale,
a sudden downpour,
and just like that; it’s back to work.
A few weeks ago my husband and I had an impromptu vacation to the Lake District. For anyone who is unfamiliar, this National Park was granted status as a World Heritage Site by UNESCO in July 2017. It’s an amazing range of lush mountainsides, lakes, and villages, that have inspired many great artistic minds, like William Wordsworth and Beatrix Potter. It’s a mecca for hardcore hikers to gentle ramblers, and people like me who maybe sit at their desks a little too often and daydream an awful, awful lot.