Sleeping Giants

Philosophy Friday
I venture into the wild places not in the hope of losing myself, but in the belief I will truly find myself.

A fabulous day introducing FWG to somewhere truly special, the ancient rounded hills that men choose to call the Howgills. These are hills that were old when the Lake District was just taking shape, hills that have endured so much time that it now seems to weigh heavy upon them, edges worn down to their bones, flanks steep and severe. These are serious hills that suffer fools not one bit. 

Yet they offer much for the intrepid wanderer - steep hillsides and deep gills, rare flowers, hidden falls. Solitude and challenge. A place where oh so quickly one can feel a real sense of the wilderness - and yet it's possible to cross them on foot in a day. Once we were mere minutes from the car we passed a time beaten sheepfold - for the next six hours we didn't see another sign of man - yet as the raven might fly we were probably never more than 3 miles from the arterial flow of the M6 and the West Coast rail line. 
I don't know how to put a value on that, a priceless experience. We are all richer for the places like this, even if very very few of us ever appreciate they still exist, sleeping - waiting to be discovered.