The Well

I always find it hard to let go of the Lake District after I’ve been, even with challenging weather I am grateful to drink from that well.
I don’t know if this is a well, possibly not - but it reminds me of one - perhaps someone out there knows? It’s situated at the side of the stream part way down the steep Rake Beck on the side of Great Borne that we picked our way slowly down yesterday
This poem has been rattling around in my head for a few days now so I’ll share it

Those who will not slip beneath
the still surface on the well of grief,

turning down through its black water
to the place we cannot breathe,

will never know the source from which we drink,
the secret water, cold and clear,

nor find in the darkness glimmering,
the small round coins,
thrown by those who wished for something else.

The Well of Grief. David Whyte