@Lake District, Cumbria, England.
This was the place, the land of William Wordsworth, Samuel Taylor Coleridge, and Robert Southey as well as many more who followed. It has also been the inspiration for many poets who came there as just visitors and were motivated by it’s beauty. Those poems still floated around the air; what inspired them still lived, and I knew it all the way. But I never knew that it was Lake District until I was half the way through. But what I knew was that it could have been the place where those poets wrote, especially William Wordsworth; it was the place which could inspire the common man, and Wordsworth was far beyond that. It was the beauty of nature which truly deserved to be called so; blessed should be the people who lived there, especially in those years when there was no modern technology around; it would have been a place which would stretch my imaginations beyond all capabilties and even then, it had given my imagination the wings which I had missed; it gave me calmness; it provided me with serenity beyond my usual comprehension, and it lived; it still comes to mind, but those memories are rather painful considering how quickly it was over and how much more time I could have spent there.
Even a few sheep on the roadside seemed to tell me the same thing. They looked at me when I went to them with the camera, along with walking away from the scene; they seemed to tell me that they lived there forever and I have to go back; that beauty will stay for them and will be lost for me forever. Those photos and memories will be less valuable compared to what they will get to enjoy every day. They were the lucky ones, but still they could write no poem; only I could, if I wanted to. But is there anything in the Lake District which is not covered by the Lake Poets? What is there which hasn’t been their bliss of solitude? I seriously doubt that; writing a new poem out there would be that difficult for me considering the fact that the place has been utilized for poetic purposes to it’s maximum. There would surely be unexplored territories and there is no certainty as to what would be the inspiration, those lakes themselves, a group of yellow flowers, a beautiful maiden or a solitary reaper, but still there is a limit to what modern men can do as their minds are affected by their technology in such a way that their creativity and imagination are infected by science.
There was no choice of being at Lake District or not be there, as it was a quick turn on the way to Glasgow from Leeds. It is not to be confused with the turns at home, as it was that perfect an exit as it could get. Thus the journey to Scotland was a little twisted, but truly wonderful, it was what came closest to travelling with nature or through it, that journey which awakens the aesthetic sense from the inside. That sense was surely affected by the desire of some history loving part of the brain to move on and reach the old city of Edinburgh, after a quick look at Glasgow. But literature is still something that wouldn’t give up, as it lived with nature in Lake District; it had no wars, lady love or divine intervention there, it lived with what existed there for a long time and still survives. It was to be my perfect moment with nature, but due to that suddent attack of that history side, it became just one of my moments; it was still a strong one and it’s power was enough to conquer a territory of my mind. It still failed to win it’s battle with history at that moment, but even as it kept losing all those wars in Britain, it still had that advantage in the great course of war which continued, with rather peaceful methods of persuasion.
The lakes were of astonishing magnificience and they formed a force which could not be neglected by the human eyes or the camera. Those mountains, those trees and those lovely flowers which surrounded the lakes gave that feeling of being at paradise. If you ask me if I had made some random visit to Eden, the answer would be no. But I do have my concepts of paradise and this was one of them, or what came the closest to it. I was not of the intention to regain that lost paradise, but what would anyone do when there is an amount of beauty of nature which leaves him senseless? I am not good at interpreting random people, but I would be stunned. But I had less time for that too. I wanted to be in tears, but I was so frozen when that stun effect was combined with nature’s freezing effect and I took whatever photos with my shivering hands. I was lost; I knew my desire to stay there as well as my need to leave; I had a bigger ‘mouth open’ feeling at the York and Liverpool cathedral earlier, but this one was different. It was less for the camera and more for the mind; it was less for history and more for the soul; that part of the body which desired for literature, poetry to be exact. It was that writer’s side which shot up out of nowhere, and it happened in Lake District.
There were boats around for a journey through the lakes, but as Robert Frost already told us through his poems, there were miles to go before I slept; not just kilometers as they counted in miles; that journey was not just about the journey of life, but also about the distance we were to cover on our way to Glasgow. But the nature was as if it was more concerned about the journey of life; it did see so many humans live and die like the mortals which they are, and it might be remembering them all as it is that silent witness which has not much job to do. It has to keep an eye on humans all the time as they are the creatures who destroy it; they are the people of greed and lust; they are the people who invented new scientific methods to destroy nature. As the cruel humans are all set to destroy mother nature, Lake District watches on, with all it’s beauty. But it is there only as long as the nature stays alive, and this is a place which should live forever. But against the beauty of nature, there is always some random human beings; they are the bane on Earth and they are the ambitious ones; the ones who don’t learn history or learn from it; the ones who see beauty as a medium to satisfy their greed and selfishness.
As I hope for the modern satanic monsters to stay away from mother nature, I would once again bring that picture of Lake District into my mind. Those mountains, lakes and trees; those fallen leaves and those rocks; those yellow leaves and colourful flowers; they are the reason there is happiness; they are the reason for the belief in the Garden of Eden; there is paradise and some part of it exists on this Earth. Lake District is one of them. It is a world of nature and it is the cause of joy for many. What a nature poet and a nature poem is; that should be what the soul of this place should be. I had found another world, the best and the true face of nature in Lake District, kind of my parallel universe away from this madness, nonsense and hatred. There was nothing more I could wish for, other than more time there which was not be. It left me with the option of being what William Wordsworth had been; with a heart which fills with pleasure and dances with flowers, leaves and those trees when sitting idle on a couch with a free mind. However it is done and whenever it is done, Lake District lives on, encased in a soul.
Diving out —>