A Note From the Lakes

My wife and I are basking in the natural landscape of Britain’s Lake District. It is a pause before chemotherapy begins, and perhaps because of that, the beauty here feels especially tender.

We are rested in a cozy little place called Thimble Cottage. Yip, it sounds like it is straight from a fairy tale. We are among the newborn lambs and cattle, the darting house martins and the sudden glory of pheasants running in the fields, we have found something quietly restorative. The land seems to breathe at a slower pace, inviting us to do the same.

Here, it is not hard to understand Wordsworth’s “sense sublime / Of something far more deeply interfused”. There is a presence in these hills and fields, in the weathered stone walls and patient creatures, that seems to steady the heart.

In the evenings, gathered round the log fire, we have been listening to The Shepherd’s Life by James Reburn. Somehow, ihis words draw the whole Lake District close — the fells and weather, the old rhythms, and the quiet endurance of this place.

For now, we are simply grateful to be here.