Wainwright's Walking Guide to the Lake District Fells - Book 7 The Western Fells

As a viewpoint for the Wasdale fells, the summit is magnificently placed, and it is fitting that a reward such as this should be earned only by effort.

A Prayer Amidst Aggressive Fierceness

by Inkpotpoet

   Eagerness paused.
   Turgid backs of haughty giants arch to the heavens
   their ageless toil etched across their dusty skin,
   self-flagellation scars in view of a few
   paying homage at Wastwater’s shores
   as the sun warms, a playful pat perhaps,
   their eyes fixed on The Screes face. Still. Silent.

   Peering across the dark waters, laying like a coffin
   during calling hours, The Screes bow their brow,
   their lips silent. Their brow thus tormented and
   furrowed stares down in sombre prayer upon
   the humble assembly sat before them in readiness of the hymn.

   Mourning over as youth jumps in to Britain’s Favourite View,
   celebrating upon their island, like a floating leaf carrying
   them under the watchful eye of Great Gable. Not Clarke.

   Set free from the monstrous glare of Screes
   siblings meander up the rocky incline
   as Greendale Gill slips gently down
   the green and rugged valley
   whilst Tongues Gill cascades, a dancing queen
   resplendent in her finery, joining with
   Greendale Gill amidst the well-sculptured landscape
   which belies the violence wrought upon the Earth.
   Though its aggressive fierceness is softened
   by the well-placed steps in their ascent

   and like the cupping of a mother’s hand
   the valley lifts the duo on to Greendale Tarn
   serene under the gaze of the warming sun.
   A moment. Like water sprites eyes delve
   beneath the dark water
   swimming history’s legacy untouched
   by time. The gentle ebb and flow,
   voices calling from the past reaching out
   on the faces of the rocks that crawl
   up from the water’s depths to tell
   their story to those that sit and listen

   as a jealous Scafell salutes across the backs
   of valleys like a skimming stone gliding across
   Wastwater whilst Yewbarrow, Kirk Fell and Gable
   Slumber in the late-afternoon April sun. Scar
   tissue adorns Middle Fell’s summit like bread crumbs
   strewn to show the way as smiles hewn
   with Herculean effort ride across the ages
   like a raucous echo intermingled with the past.

   Eagerness paused.
   A well-earned respite amidst the scattered
   ancient debris softens the hearts of these two
   siblings as father looks into their eyes
   with the valley below laying a welcome mat called home.

   (C) A.J Westley 21st April 2022

14.59 Lots of water at the south end of the valley meant an extended stop for waterfall photos!