The first of my summer jaunts took me ‘up North’, visiting friends I had not seen for an age. How wonderful it is to be met with open arms, for the years to melt away and for a heady cocktail of laughter and memories to fill each day.  Wonderful also to visit old haunts.

Coniston Lake shared its palette of grey, under a brooding sky. I almost succumbed to the urge to hire a canoe, but I wasn’t dressed for messing about in boats. Besides, the  graphite grey lake was distinctly choppy- I would have been soaked. So I drove to the northern end, where tempestuous clouds seduced me into taking a dozen or so photos.

Coniston under a moody sky.

Pretty Yew Tree Tarn, dressed in green.

A brief stop at Yew Tree Tarn, not far from Coniston. Whereas the lake suggested dark tales and ghost stories, the tarn was almost spring like in its fresh greens. Hard to believe it was the same afternoon.

Another day, another place. This time wild moorlands, where a phantom horseman is reputed to travel. I only saw sheep, even though under a sky like this I wouldn’t have been too surprised to witness a spectre or two. Many years ago, I heard the sound of crying children, not so much carried by the wind as of it,  drifting over this desolate land.

Orton Scar –  a summer storm is brewing.

Finally, a brief visit to Alderley Edge, long a place of myth, magic  and mystery, and where birds don’t sing…where copper mines lurk beneath your feet,  where sleeping knights wait to defend their country watched over by a wizard.

The Legend of Alderley Edge  fascinated me as a child:  I read and reread ‘The Weirdstone of Brisingamen’ by Alan Garner many times. Living in the same village as the writer, some miles from Alderley, was especially thrilling.

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