Little Langdale

Let's flee to Little Langdale, where mountains pierce the sky through layers of cloud and fog, past birds that swarm like flies. Let's find the quarry tunnels and tour Cathedral Cave We'll hear our voices echo like pebbles skipping waves. Let's walk the hills till twilight past crumbling ancient walls. We'll stroll 'cross Slaters Bridge and watch the evening fall. Let's grab a pint or twenty at the old Three Shires Pub. We'll drink the finest ale and feast on English grub. Let's stumble home together 'neath stars we've never seen. We'll find our merry way along the winding stream. *Last year, my family rented a 16th-century cottage in the Lake District of England. It was surreal to wake up in the mountains every morning. *See "About This Poem" for links to photos