Not on my shift . . .

I collapse to the ground and lean back against the trig-point atop the small hill of Brunt Knott.  My body is awash with sweat from the short walk up.  Working in London has certainly taken its toll on my fitness.

Sitting back, I take in the majestic views of the Kentmere valley and the surrounding Lake District.  The sun beats brightly above me.  A gentle breeze blows across my face, and Skylarks singing above mark the only break in the mountain silence.

I breath in deeply.  The air is fresh and clean.

Sitting in this joyous solitude I can feel tears falling freely down my cheeks.  Another memory has broken the peace and invaded my mind.  I close my eyes, but the black canvas of my eyelids only acts as a projector screen and enhances the images I see . . .

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