Once I’d left the chilly, snow covered tops of Cumbria behind
early last week, I really felt the holiday spirit fill me, for although the
beauty of Britain is matchless during the occasional, dreamy, cloudless days of
summer or on a bright, crisp winter morning, the damp greyness that fills much
of our calendar makes me long to escape. On Tuesday, despite the snow, the
light was dull in a bleak landscape, an uninviting pall of heavy cloud hanging
over the hills. Desolate trees stood
starkly against the skyline, leafless limbs despairing at the on-going triumph
of winter over spring.
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