View towards Helvellyn

...which was well and truly lost in low cloud. I thought the stream looked like lightening.

Shattered getting the house moderately presentable for visitors tomorrow. A veg tagine done, made some amaretto biscotti (more blob than biscotti), damson gin decanted, clearing, cleaning and spare room sorted. Took the van for a run to charge the battery. Then went up to Harrop to see the chaps and to forage some bits and pieces to decorate the living room to make it look vaguely seasonal (who says I can’t do festive). It was so lovely I had trouble leaving. With the road being closed for so long the area has reclaimed a rather profound feeling of timelessness and peace.
Smashing radio programme on portraiture as I was driving through.

Watching the mists roll around the fellside made me think of Wordsworth’s ‘Intimations Ode’...

Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting;
The Soul that rises with us, our life’s Star,
Hath had elsewhere its setting
And cometh from afar;
Not in entire forgetfulness,
And not in utter nakedness,
But trailing clouds of glory do we come
From God, who is our home: