Derwentwater

Crispy day. As I headed to Keswick I thought reflections of a snowy Blencathra in Tewet Tarn would be good. Didn't think that one through ... it was half frozen and there was a bit of a breeze (extra).

Great exchange in one of the Keswick shops - 
Tourists - 'it's getting really cold out there'
Shop assistant - 'it's the mountains they either keep the weather in or out'
Tourists - 'really?!'
Shop assistant - 'yes, have you heard of Shap?'
Tourists - 'no'
Shop assistant - 'it really gets it ...the weather stops there'

So now you know (and, in fact, I reckon I will be avoiding it like the plague tomorrow and keep to the motorway so I guess there's something in the that bit of weather lore but it's probably more closely related to gritters).

I rashly did a tiny bit of domestic stuff this morning (I'm with Philip Pullman and 'dust') and as I was dusting the books on the window shelf, I picked up P's copy of Sorley MacLean ...

Ebb - Sorley MacLean

I am not striving with the tree that will not bend for me,
and the apples will not grow on any branch;
it is not farewell to you; you have not left me.
It is the ebb of death with no floodtide after it.

Dead stream of neap in your tortured body,
which will not flow at new moon or at full,
in which the great springtide of love will not come -
but a double subsidence to lowest ebb.