Starting at Kirkby Malham in the Yorkshire Dales.
Stumbling across poetry in unexpected places.
Reading Malhamdale by Betty Chester (Nee Banks) aged 18 in 1881.
A lane along our route, and the name? The Weets? - It means Wet...... and it was.
Breathing in the cool air, Eldest stands on the trig point at our highest point and lunch stop.
The puddles were huge.
12 bee homes for the solitary bee strategically placed in a narrow strip of woodland
alongside the fast flowing stream thrown from Janet's Foss.
Each nest's roof made using a book with a bee related subject - a beautiful thought provoking art installation by Alec Finlay.
Listening to the crashing of the water, Youngest stands at the edge of Jane's Foss.
As the afternoon became early evening, chevrons of birds flew over head.
Dusk. Wintry tree skeletons reaching up into the sky.
Sunday - Quiet walking in quiet countryside. Only sounds were the birds and the thunderous crash of the waters of Janet's Foss. I'd taken my knitting, however our only stop was our lunch break and the air was too cool to linger.
Now, home, the woodburner rumbling away making the house warm, the boys in bed and Himself watching a science programme.
A sort of quiet thoughtful day. Introspective. Reflective. Meditative.