A Walk in England

Everyone walks
Everyone walks

Keswick, England. What does one do for four days in the Lake District of England? The town is small, the roads miniature, the mood subdued. To my absolute joyful heart-felt jubilation, the answer is: one walks.

And so we did. Around the lake, on and off a boat,

end of a trail? no
end of a trail? no

along an unused railroad track, to ancient stones,

rain gods tried to keep us away
rain gods tried to keep us away

along meadows, up hills, over bridges and through sheep fields. We walked to restaurants, to do our laundry, to the grocery store for snacks, to a pencil museum, to the theater. I cannot imagine a more perfect walking town.

perfection
mightcould be perfection

And as a life-long walker, that is the best compliment I can give a place. (That it came after the abysmal experience of driving in Ireland might could* be taken into account – but only a little.)

*mightcould is actually one word, said in a Texas accent and having a certain sense of irony, humor or uncertainty – and preferably, all three.

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