Following sadly devastating floods in Cumbria, on the news yesterday, I heard locals urging tourists to keep visiting what is a beautiful part of England...
Poem 159 of 230: WINDERMERE - SUMMER 2001
Some thirteen years from my first visit (Then, dropped from hitching, just near; This time, by train and a downhill walk), I arrived at Windermere:
On the ferry Miss Cumbria Three, A chill-out trip to Ambleside - Viewing the trees, the farms, the fells, And the more sporty ways to ride.
Once there, an uphill walk through the shops Led to a leaf, rock and root track, With a stalactite-like mossy falls, And a bridge - starting the way back.
Track-side, gripping the ghyll, ancient woods Shaded what was a sunny day, And the falling stream gave sound strongly - Calming the soul a further way.
Then home - again charmed by the thin-stone Minimum-mortar kept buildings, The surrounds of England's largest lake, And movie train-window viewings.