the lake district

As the roads wind away from the london sky it turns and sinks like petals on a blossoming flower overlooking londons withering sky. london sinks and dies in the backroad of an uncomfortable ride to a more beautiful landscape that has sprouted out of equally fertile ground. the route to wordsworths house is long and windy as the narrow streets colide and break apart much like wordsworth poetry did. it is almost possible now to see the solitary reaper standing there in wordsworths surrounding fields as if she just appeared from the landscape that wordsworth enjoyed so much. we see as he saw humanity sprout from the ground. we see a lonely man, not alive or dead standing there stiff and stone like. He is expressionless and is standing there meekly humbled by his surroundings. the lake district, in its tranquility and peacefulness renders one with an understanding of wordsworths passions for life and nature and it is possible to see the conflicts he saw between humanity and nature. Nature is incredibly beautiful at times and it can be extremely ugly in other cases. it can be desolate like the moors and lifeless and infirtile. it can leave the viewer staring at a lifeless shadowy landscape, eerie in all detail. but through this it is possible to see the romantic view of all life. it is the moors that show us the true beauty of the lakes. it is the way the moors themselves are beautiful. not even clouds can prevent the vivid light from protruding through the clouds and giving life to the hills and the trees. The sun that scatters through the valley and penetrates through the hills is the same sun that loosened the rain from the clouds that fell into wordsworth's eager eyes, while strolling around his gentle garden. now, a couple hundred years into the future, it is a bit more possible to see him through the foggy air as he waits for the right moment to pick an instantly petrified flower, at the first touch of his delicate hand.