(Neurodivergent) Notes on Nature: Orrest Head
Orrest Head, The Lake District
The light was a stream that ebbed and flowed across the hills, some of whom shrugged and some of whom beamed at us. We’d taken the blue route marked ‘easy’, but it was still hard for me with my back pain stuck under my skin like a parasite and my body more tired than my mind.
You told me that in life your motto would be ‘always take the windy route’ and I laughed, said I could see it as one of your mum’s fridge magnets, the white door rendered multi-coloured with snatches of the places we used to go.
Wending up and up the hill. The donkey in the field had its behind turned to us and children passed us by, dragging stolen holly branches and shrieking. The last five minutes of the walk were a slow race against the draining light but when we got to the top, flatness pierced the world like a jab and the view bit into me and wouldn’t let go. It was the sheer drama of the thing. The dips, the swoops, the folds. The way the land bent its body into shapes I never could.
The clouds raced each other across the sky whilst you held my hand, tight and cosy. Lake Windermere glimmered, showered in gold for a moment before the sun was blotted out, and then gold again and then blue. I’ll always be glad I took the winding path to get to that moment of sunshine with you, before we turned back around and caught the last dregs of the sun winking at us through the trees.
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