You start by finding a narrow pull off from the twisting road that snakes and twists around the lower fell side like a lazy eel. The sun burns with tropical fierceness, but you don’t care, because it has shone so little lately that you are just glad that it has chosen today of all days to shine out like you remember it used to do when you were a child and there were endless days of strong autumnal sunlight that burnt you brown as hazel when you wandered harvest fields searching, for blackberries and mouth souring sloes which reminded you of your grandmother’s shiny bible jacket and by association, of bitter Sunday sermons when you yawned and squirmed and gazed longingly through diamond panes at vivid skies dipping with swallows.

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