þar, þá

Extraordinary place that was. Every house and wall was rust red native stone. The cold had burned the grass on the slope to the same color. The moss was green, though.

The fellward wind smelled of salt and the seaward wind of sheep on the heath. The calm smelled of coal smoke rising from every sandstone chimney. I had never been among fells before. Kills, yes, but not a landscape stamped with names like these:

• Skafell
  
• Wastwater
  
• Seascale
• Ravenglass
  
• Eskdale
  
• Wasdale
  
• Spring Keld
  
• Selly Hall
  

I've shown my tracks now, and you can go there too. I will try not to be jealous.