Many years ago I stayed for a while in a tiny village called Whicham at the foot of Black Combe, a hill in the south west of Cumbria.
Majestic as it is, Black Combe cannot actually claim to be a mountain falling just short of that status by a few feet I think. Nevertheless it stands in splendid isolation and one morning I decided to climb it.
It is considered to be an easy trek, but for one such as I, unaccustomed to such energetic jaunts, it was indeed a challenge.
I recall clearly an elderly man running past me on his way up to the summit.... and then running past me again on his way down - while I was still scrambling up the path to the top.
This is a poem inspired by the wonderful view and isolation.... when I finally did reach my goal.
A walk atop the mountain
taught me things that really matter
no more that idle chatter
which gently falls away.
I see from here a fountain,
is the natural world designed?
now I feel my mind resigned,
I have little left to say.
And in my mind I've travelled,
With peaceful thoughts I ponder
at the earth and all its wonder
time stops, the world stands still,
with mysteries unravelled
the truth becomes much clearer
my happiness draws nearer
and my spirit drinks its fill.
© 2016 Jason Endfield
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