On Barton

This morning I hacked back the shrub that’s encroaching from the property at the back and then headed in to town and on to Flusco with stuff that had been left at the back of the shed. Then a short walk before popping in to the old place. It still smells like home.
A murmuration of starlings were swirling over the A66 on my way back.

...

Of solitude and silence in the sky?
These have we, and a thousand nooks of earth
Have also these, but nowhere else is found,
Nowhere (or is it fancy?) can be found
The one sensation that is here; ’tis here,
Here as it found its way into my heart
In childhood, here as it abides by day,
By night, here only; or in chosen minds
That take it with them hence, where’er they go.
—’Tis, but I cannot name it, ’tis the sense
Of majesty, and beauty, and repose,
A blended holiness of earth and sky,
Something that makes this individual spot,
This small abiding-place of many men,
A termination, and a last retreat,
A centre, come from wheresoe’er you will,
A whole without dependence or defect,
Made for itself, and happy in itself,
Perfect contentment, Unity entire.

(from Home at Grasmere, The Recluse - William Wordsworth)