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The sky here travels high and wide like a long breath. It arches with shimmering rainbows

when the rain and the sun meet in unison and meld. It's whirls with thick cloud when the sky

gathers its pearls and the rain rumbles. And it presents a perfect pool blue when the sun swells

and opens its heart and bakes cool valleys below.

The roads here sweep over the land and meander like streams through the hills.

With no rush, no hurry. The air relaxes muscles and brings a calmness. This time slows and the

sleepy mountains breathe deeply. The mountains rise all around and the lakes dip down into land

like great breaths in and out. The tops of the hills reaching up into the sky and the water

deep and low permeating the earth.

It is called the Lake District simply because this wide swath of land by the sea is home to the

largest number of lakes in England. It is heaps and troughs. The land here is like the motion of travel

up and down in and out a swirl of green and blue.

The village of Grasmer lies unseen on entrance. The road strides forward and the hills yon

beyond. But it is only when the trees move aside slowly that the huddled cottages and ends emerge.

Until you are upon it, this sleepy village stays hidden and shaded, keeping its story to itself

in quiet solitude and calm. It is this story that I will tell you tonight.

Duff cottage is the whisper before the words of Grasmer.

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