Fields of Asphodel

… and orchids

After all the rain I fancied a walk and headed for Thirlmere but they’ve reintroduced charging and it irks me putting money in the coffers of Utilities so I went on to Grasmere and managed to find a spot and walked up onto White Moss in search of bog asphodel. After freespiral had mentioned it it had occurred to me yesterday that it doesn’t really grow around here, even in the boggy areas on Barton, probably something to do with underlying geomorphology and not acidic enough I guess. It had mostly gone over but was still lovely up there. It doesn’t seem as though the Common is as frequented these days. I went on to look at Dunnabeck (extra). Depressing seeing it completely taken over by Bracken. G and I kept on top of the whole of that field by Bracken bashing and planting some native trees and marking the births of various children. I could see Isobel Hazel looking pretty good on the far side but would have needed a machete to get to her.

I walked along the coffin path to Rydal and had tea at Rydal Hall cafe and then called in on Keith who was remarkably strimming his garden at 87. I stopped for a catch up with him and his wife, Pam. He’s got a bit of dementia now but enjoyed reminiscing over memories of G’s antics. 

I carried on round the other side of Rydal back to Grasmere where I had a quick swim before heading home.

The Place of Ordinary Souls - Helen Dunmore

In such meadows the days pass
Without shadow, unremarkable.
On time, the bus pants at its halt,
Passengers peel their thighs
From hot vinyl, and step down.

Swift-heeled Achilles strides
Through the fields of asphodel
Flanked by heroes and warriors
Who have left their mark on the earth
And want nothing to do with us.

With impatient glance at the starry fields
And kit on their backs, they're gone
Route-marching to Elysium
Where the gods are at home.
We are glad to see the back of them.

In the fields of asphodel we dawdle
Towards the rumour of a beauty spot
Which turns out to be shut.
No matter. Why not get out the picnic
And see if the tea's still hot?

The bus shuttles all day long
With its cargo of ordinary souls.
We lie on our backs, eyes closed.
Dreaming of nothing while clouds pass.