Restored

"I have of late, but whereof I know not, lost all my mirth, forgone all custom of excercises" *
I'm enjoying the work on the house (last electrical sockets changed today) and the Shepherds Hut, but it also causes a slight but constant level of anxiety and can be too all consuming. After twenty years away from tools and production and lifting and carrying its also damn hard work. 
A delay at the timber yard (it's the first week of school holidays and Phil has his priorities right) meant a day today with suddenly nothing set to be done. 

A wander up into the wild was called for, a rebalancing if you will ,a need to reconnect. 
Mardale Head was busier than I've ever seen it, the days of Riggindale being a wonderful secret are gone. But the muggles seldom leave the paths or the guide book routes - so as is our want Missy and I took an obtuse route to Caspel Gate, and were rewarded with the respectful curiosity of distant red deer (extra) , a herd of maybe 30, fawns relaxed in the sun, bucks stood sentry on the higher ground. 
At Short Stile I paused a while to chat to a trainee ML, gave her some pointers, pointed her to my website. Both of us agape at the crowds on the coast to coast. 
We wandered to the High St wall for lunch, Missy exploring, coming when called, now totally trusted to leave the sheep. If only we had wolves. 
At Kidsty Pike we lamented the long lost Golden Eagle and then headed into seldom visited Randale, crowds passed by on the usual paths, we saw not a soul just as we intended. 
We sat a good while at the Lady's Seat, and now connected we took a serendipitous phone call - the first booking for a new offering, more to follow when it's finalised, but a big smile moment. The cerebral work finally delivering a tangible reward much like the physical. 

At the Lake shore we joined the dog walkers and families, a happy buzz of humanity, it seemed the best possible way to slip quietly back into the world of others. 

* I've been lucky enough to see a couple of the 'greats' tackle the infamous Dane, but for me the defining delivery of this soliloquy will forever be Richard E Grant at the ending of the fabulous Withnail and I, a film that framed much of my youth and vies for best movie ever. The wonderful imagery of the forlorn man talking to the caged wolves as the decade of love and the hope of a new Camelot die in metaphor for his dreams  are all perfect. 
I now know what I'll be watching tonight.