We were on the road again, driving along a winding path of Windermere.
It was the end of December, but the valley bellow was covered partly with autumn colours. The relic reddish yellow stood out under the sparkling light from low winter sun.
“Have nature forgotten its cycle or am I lost in an in-between world?”
Here and there in the vast valley, some idle sheep were chewing away the cold wind. I wondered how their Christmas was like. Quite different to mine I guessed.
My feet tapped on the car floor when he started to play Led Zappelin. On one side, high mountain range stood as ancient as always. On the other, one after another quaint hotels welcomed mountain climbers and country trekkers. My feet kept tapping to the music. He held a big smile.
The romance of a place like Windermere could well be hiding beneath those mountain tops or floating on the tranquil lake. It depends on what you came looking for. My little romance was kept in a small black box when he asked me to marry him. I grinned at the winter sun setting its sparkle on my ring finger. It was beautiful.
And again, we are on the road.
nightcactus 