The Slow Lane…

Not a soul in sight, only the sound of the wind, the birds and the water. Even though the skies were grey, clouds scudding through at a rate of knots, with more than a hint of rain in the air, it was a moment to stop. To step into the slow lane. To watch the clear water swirl, trickle, stream, spurt and gurgle its way down the fell side, over the stones and into the reservoir. Each droplet a story. To watch the ripples tremble on the surface. Timeless. All that it was, is now, and will be again.