A call to devotion

Most of the snow seemed to have missed the Eastern fells, but when I finally drew back the curtains this morning the sky was azure and the air quality amazing. I knew I had to get out and at least feel that connection. 
I'm certain my subconscious knew where I was headed before the monkey brain did, as with no conscious sense of plan I drove into town on errands first, a part of me obviously knowing that I needed the sun to be high enough to light the fells.
Before I'd even reached Grayrigg I'd stopped to help at two crashes, one chap was fine, one had a broken nose which is always dramatic. Prince is not 4 wheel drive, but we make a great team and his winter walking shoes and advanced traction control make a world of difference. Heading home my subconscious slowly let go the plan and I made my way carefully up onto Firbank Fell. This isn't a road for the best of times, but as I suspected I met not a soul. Parked by Fox's Pulpit the trickiest part of my journey began. Ginger steps took me carefully a mere few hundred meters onto the fell.

This is a place that has crept into me, embraced me, earned a place in my heart. The graveyard with its solitary stone, the wind worn larches, and this Crag fast tree, all affording the finest view of the magical Howgills. Where a good man once came to try and fix the world I now often come to try and fix me. It's a peaceful place fitting well with its heritage.
The photographist in me wanted me to push on, to climb one more little rise, to frame the shot just so. But I do occasionally listen to the wiser voices. I sat on a rock in this cleft of contours, their rounding mouth framing the distant hills, hills that are miles and months away. I sat and stared until I couldn't feel my fingers and toes, today that was enough. More than enough. 

Philosophy Friday 
Yearning: it needs to hurt to be worthy of the word. Otherwise it's just wanting. 
St John of the Cross.