Blencathra

... what do you mean you can’t see it ...? It’s hiding behind the tree and under a bloomin’ hefty great tonne of dark cloud. I know how it feels ... it was all okay until 16:23 ish when it all went a bit tits up ... not the best finish to the week. A quick look down the lane here when I finished and before it got dark.

A Poem of Trees - Mary Oliver

Can You Imagine?
For example, what the trees do
not only in lightening storms
or the watery dark of a summer’s night
or under the white nets of winter
but now, and now, and now – whenever
we’re not looking. Surely you can’t imagine
they don’t dance, from the root up, wishing
to travel a little, not cramped so much as wanting
a better view, or more sun, or just as avidly
more shade – surely you can’t imagine they just
stand there loving every
minute of it, the birds or the emptiness, the dark rings
of the years slowly and without a sound
thickening, and nothing different unless the wind,
and then only in its own mood, comes
to visit, surely you can’t imagine
patience, and happiness, like that.