Maiden Moor flank

Walked 'the sunny side' up Catbells avoiding the top which had a million people on it. I only saw a few folk and watched the most amazing air battle between what I think was a kestrel and a peregrine, certainly two birds of prey. I found myself gasping and shouting aloud things like, 'get in the trees....no, not there, over there, no, not that rock shelf you're a sitting duck'...as the other dive bombed for the umpteenth time. I wondered how long it would have the energy to keep doing that, climbing up and plunging down repeatedly. I must have appeared a bit mad because a passing couple asked if I was okay. The drama above had passed them by. On such a day it inevitably conjured a parallel with war time battles and then as I saw this man come off Maiden Moor I thought of G and his dad, men of these mountains caught up in far off conflicts.

'No worst, there is none. Pitched past pitch of grief.'
- Gerard Manley Hopkins

No worst, there is none. Pitched past pitch of grief,
More pangs will, schooled at forepangs, wilder wring.
Comforter, where, where is your comforting?
Mary, mother of us, where is your relief?
My cries heave, herds-long; huddle in a main, a chief
Woe, wórld-sorrow; on an áge-old anvil wince and sing —
Then lull, then leave off. Fury had shrieked 'No ling-
ering! Let me be fell: force I must be brief."'

O the mind, mind has mountains; cliffs of fall
Frightful, sheer, no-man-fathomed. Hold them cheap
May who ne'er hung there. Nor does long our small
Durance deal with that steep or deep. Here! creep,
Wretch, under a comfort serves in a whirlwind: all
Life death does end and each day dies with sleep.