Catch 22 On The Lake District Hills. Poem by Dan Reynolds

Catch 22 on the Lake District hills.


Scrambling up on Tilberthwaite Ghyll
Eyes to ground
Hands hard on knees

Cold breeze burns
That chilling sound
Amplifies my inner wheeze

O'er the shale
And rough-stacked slate
Hamstrings pull like husky dogs
Skirt the ravenous ravine
Disowned quarry, mildewed logs

Onwards upwards Lakeland track
Gaze locked firmly
On the path

How far till I dare look back
How far till I risk its wrath

To tread these ways?
Rewarding sights.
Must prove I have
No fear of heights

These landscapes jeer

Each time they're calling

They sense

I'm just
Afraid
of

f
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