Howgills Ascending
05th March 2017
5th March 17
Howgills Ascending
"He rises and begins to round,
He drops the silver chain of sound,
Of many links without a break,
In chirrup, whistle, slur and shake.
For singing till his heaven fills,
'Tis love of earth that he instils,
And ever winging up and up,
Our valley is his golden cup
And he the wine which overflows
to lift us with him as he goes.
Till lost on his aerial rings
In light, and then the fancy sings".
The air was still and languorous, but an implacable sun bathed the landscape in a pale, golden glow. High up on the Howgills, hidden within the grasslands of these steep sided hills was the emissaries of spring. New arrivals, bringing with them their ambassadorial gifts in the form of song.
These totems, when heard and after much peering into the Monet blue skies are eventually pinpointed. They appear as Thuribles as they rise and hover in the ultramarine firmament and burst into a fanfare of crossing melodies. And it is through their song they diffuse the essence of the new season across the moors and mountains. This is a tune that bounces and echoes off each ridge and buttress, a singer's air that acclaims the coming of warmer, longer days, filled with life and energy.
Today I saw my first Skylarks of the year and my reasons 'to be here' was re-affirmed. I was very happy indeed!
"Dear thoughts are in my mind
And my soul soars enchanted,
As I hear the sweet lark sing
In the clear air of the day.
For a tender beaming smile
To my hope has been granted,
And tomorrow she shall hear
All my fond heart would say.
I shall tell her all my love,
All my soul's adoration,
And I think she will hear
And will not say me nay.
It is this that gives my soul
All its joyous elation,
As I hear the sweet lark sing
In the clear air of the day."
Howgills Ascending
"He rises and begins to round,
He drops the silver chain of sound,
Of many links without a break,
In chirrup, whistle, slur and shake.
For singing till his heaven fills,
'Tis love of earth that he instils,
And ever winging up and up,
Our valley is his golden cup
And he the wine which overflows
to lift us with him as he goes.
Till lost on his aerial rings
In light, and then the fancy sings".
The air was still and languorous, but an implacable sun bathed the landscape in a pale, golden glow. High up on the Howgills, hidden within the grasslands of these steep sided hills was the emissaries of spring. New arrivals, bringing with them their ambassadorial gifts in the form of song.
These totems, when heard and after much peering into the Monet blue skies are eventually pinpointed. They appear as Thuribles as they rise and hover in the ultramarine firmament and burst into a fanfare of crossing melodies. And it is through their song they diffuse the essence of the new season across the moors and mountains. This is a tune that bounces and echoes off each ridge and buttress, a singer's air that acclaims the coming of warmer, longer days, filled with life and energy.
Today I saw my first Skylarks of the year and my reasons 'to be here' was re-affirmed. I was very happy indeed!
"Dear thoughts are in my mind
And my soul soars enchanted,
As I hear the sweet lark sing
In the clear air of the day.
For a tender beaming smile
To my hope has been granted,
And tomorrow she shall hear
All my fond heart would say.
I shall tell her all my love,
All my soul's adoration,
And I think she will hear
And will not say me nay.
It is this that gives my soul
All its joyous elation,
As I hear the sweet lark sing
In the clear air of the day."