Sunlight plays over the Langdale Pikes, contesting with shadowing cloud. The call of ducks reaches up to us from Cunswick Tarn.
To the north, Red Screes appears clad in snow. To the east, the Howgills.
Last winter, I walked the green lanes below Cunswick Fell, ancient lanes between farmsteads. I thought upon these winter walks as I listened to a radio programme on Robert Frost's Stopping by woods on a snowy evening. Today is close to the shortest day and the rural setting of the poem is similar.
It's a well-known and much loved poem. For me, it's that point of stillness and tranquillity the speaker finds as he stops for a while to watch the woods fill up with snow, putting aside the purpose of his journey to lose himself in the silence and beauty of the scene. The poem is universal, could be any time, any place. Although to be afoot or on horseback and to travel at night is unusual these days. In our homes and when travelling, we are insulated against the elements and the natural world. We have lost that connectivity.