@poetry_weekend@GigiChouquette Déjà en trouver un dont les jours de la semaine ne s'effacent pas au bout d'un mois ou deux, c'est pas gagné. Je suis rendu à devoir compter les jours avec un doigt. Je l'ai appelé mon pilulier digital.
Some gates deserve to take centre stage, beckoning you in to the woodland beyond. This morning was so quiet, so still, the lane deserted. All of nature seemed to be holding its breath, just waiting for the sun to rise and flicker its way through the trees, to sweep away the mist in a matter of seconds with warmth and light. I’m so glad I was there to watch the magic.
📍 Peak District, England
The Peak District is home to hundreds of little villages and hamlets. Some are busy and bustling, flashy affairs with a whole pub, a church and maybe even a shop if you're really lucky. Many more are blink-and-you've-missed-them settlements, just clusters of old stone houses straddling one or two narrow lanes, surrounded on all sides by wooded slopes. But when you wander through, stand for a while and take the time to really look, you can see their history around every corner, how they've been built up and shaped over the years, added to for new generations. They are the keepers of the stories, communities that have seen centuries pass, the threads that knit together the landscape, these fields and hills. We lose them at our peril.
📍 Peak District, England