Mom and I have just arrived in Keswick, a smallish town in the Lake District. I’m going to catch up on the days we’ve spent traveling (I swear I am! probably tonight). But right now, I just want to describe everything I can see.
We’re staying in Hazeldene, a B&B recommended by Rick Steve. We’re on the top floor. I’m sitting in a window seat, with the huge windows open, and the wind is blowing in on me (cooling my sensitive sunburn from yesterday).
I look out, and I see huge, round mountains. They remind me of CA mountains–mostly brown and gray. But these have green and yellow fields stretching up the sides, and dark pine forests. But they are still stark and dull against the brilliant blue sky. There is one small fluffy cloud drifting over them now.
There’s a street below the mountain, and some houses and trees. To my left there’s a hotel that looks like it was built in the late 80’s–white cement and some yellow rust stains. A little to the right of that is a stone house with a slate roof. The slate is old, and a mix of grays, jade greens, dark reds and pale blues.
Just outside the window is another stone house, also with slate tiles for the roof. But this one looks a little newer. There’s moss growing in the cracks between the slate and along the brick at the point of the roof. There are tiny green plants growing in the gutter. Down below, on the ground floor, I can see a window that’s full of dried pink roses. This stone house is connected to a white brick house, which shares the same roof.
The gutter to my house is right at my feet, and clean except for a few cobwebs. I’m tempted to try to climb onto the other roof, but I’m afraid I’ll slip and hurt the gutter (never mind my neck). And that would probably be frowned on by the lady of the house.
To my right is a white house. Its slate roof is a light green-blue, for of like the sea when it meets the sand. There’s a window with a dark green, spiral ladder coming out. Below us is a small courtyard. Someone has their towels hanging out to dry. They’re all a peach color, with one or two yellow washcloths. There’s a step outside the door of the white brick house. Two brightly colored water guns are sitting there, ready for a game. The courtyard is closed in by a slate wall.
It’s cool, and peaceful, and make me feel like I am staring out into a little world. The courtyard and the roofs all have their own stories and lives, and the mountains watch.