Under the shadow of Dodd Fell wander the ghosts of romantic poets.
Treading in their footsteps weaving through towering pines and following the trail of a babbling stream to be brought to the glistening shimmer of Bassenthwaite in all its glory.
As the lake gently laps at the stoney shore edge, I watch the miniature sail boats bob up and down...
...and grey brooding clouds descend over the fells in the horizon.
I feel at home.
I feel peace.
I feel belonging.
The wind rustles through the trees... this place is talking to me.
Maybe the poets are whispering their whimsy tales of adventure and mythological stories of the Knights of the Round Table and the Lady of the Lake...
Perhaps I am the Lady of the Lake...
Returned home to pass the sword of nature and earthen wisdom to my son, the wildling king.
Fiona Green
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