Grasmere

I went to join the remembrance silence outside Penrith church this morning and found myself in tears. The only thing I know about my maternal grandfather is that he drove a London bus, was gassed in the war, and cried when he heard the last post. My tears though were in anger that those memories were overtaken by thoughts of the tragedy of fucking Trump and Brexit and a feeling of collective shame.
With thoughts of G and his dad, I headed over to Grasmere. As I visited the graveyard the last post drifted across from the church. The rain was hammering down so I just decided to go for a wet tramp. I walked over Hammer Scar to High Close and back down Loughrigg terrace with little hope of it clearing when suddenly this happened.