Our vacations started off a little late as we couldn’t quite decide whether we wanted to see green or greener (a term coined by us) to soothe our tired urban eyes. We chose the latter but what we got was probably greenest (again coined by us).
As we stepped into the English Lake district we were immediately transported back several centuries when the world was all poetry and life was just a walk in the clouds. As we looked up the undulating hills and noticed the quaint little cottages snuggled into their nooks, we were tempted to wonder if it is the same world.
As our Busy Bus (that was the name of the tour operators we had booked) trundled through the trails we noticed white flecks of snow dotting the green landscape. That was surprising because no matter how cold, snow in May would be a bit too much to expect. On coming closer to ground, we realised they were not snow but sheep, hundreds of them lazing around in the meadows. Sheep forms a major share of the population in Lake District. Moreover, owing to it being the Lambing season we could see thousands of little enthusiastic lambs gambolling in the verdant meadows. In fact we also noticed the Black sheep amongst them made famous by the famous nursery rhyme ‘Baa Baa Black sheep”. As I said life seemed to be going back in time at every step.
When we planned for the Lake District we were prepared to see a beautiful place. However, in no way were we geared to be struck by such an amazing feeling of serenity that augmented its beauty by several degrees. Wrapped in a green mantle of peace it rocked the worries of the world to sleep; even if for that brief moment. We were happy to join in that lullaby dozing off our problems and shutting ourselves out from the big bad world outside.
We realised it would be a waste to experience the lakes from the windows of the bus. So we stepped out and started trudging uphill exhilarated with the feel of the velvety moss on our hands and the fresh mountain air filling our lungs. Whatever we have been doing till then were reduced to zilch as the mountains and the valleys claimed us totally.
The lakes are also famous as the land of the poets. Wordsworth, Coleridge, de Quincy had been just names we read about. Here they turned into living , thinking individuals who lived a life that people cherished even after more than 200 years of their having left this world. As I stood in front of Wordsworth’s grave I was awed at the magnificence of their personality that make people even today bow down in reverence. This is what makes a life worthwhile.
Inspired by my experience and in the hope that I might someday make a wee mark in this wide world as a poet, I burst out with my thoughts in verse:
“Windermere or Grassmere, no matter where we’ve been
Green, Green and More Green
Is all that can be seen!”
Well, though not quite top quality but not entirely a bad first attempt. What say?
May be its magic or maybe it’s just me, the Lakes have no doubt entrenched me in their watery mesh and I have no wish to escape. If being captive could mean such bliss, I abhor freedom.
