I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud

We are out of the Lake District and in Yorkshire. Surprise! We just left arguably the most beautiful part of the island and now it has stopped raining. It rained everyday we were in the Lake District, including one particularly good day where I decided to wear jeans because I did not want to walk around in my waterproof pants. Needless to say, I was totally soaked through and my waterproof/windproof jacket seemed to have lost the ability to repel anything except for warmth. But that day we were in Grasmere. Which is host to Wordsworth's two cottages he lived his perfect life in--Dove Cottage and Rydal. We hiked over Helvellyn to get to Grasmere, which is a mountain that rises to almost mythic proportions when talked about in reference to British literary history. One of them being when Coleridge hiked across the mountain at 11 o'clock at night because he simply could not wait to share his new poem with Wordsworth. I forget what it's called now. Starts with a C. Anyway, we climbed this mountain, and really, if there hadn't have been 75 kilometers/hour winds, it would have been fine. It wasn't a difficult hike, but there was wind drying out my eyes and going up my nose and out of my mouth. We reached a Tarn (a small lake, or enormous puddle) and were informed that two years ago on this same program, it was balmy weather, and many people chose to jump into the water and then to sunbathe. I tried to forget that this has been a possibility in the past. It was very cold. Very cold. But more importantly, nature was calling, and I went ahead of the group to find a suitable spot even though there were no trees or bushes in sight, and the boulders were too small. Most importantly, I found a place. and slightly more importantly, it is possible that I have peed where Wordsworth has peed.

On Wordsworth day, I also learned that the descriptions of the daffodils that he uses in the title of this post, were actually taken from his sister Dorothy Wordsworth's journal. Which is slightly disappointing. But also makes it okay for me to steal other people's ideas in my writing. so it's not too bad. But he also described his life as so perfect while he was in Grasmere living with his wife and sister, but he also hardly came into the living room of Dove Cottage, not wanting to concern himself with matters in the home. This is kind of bothersome, because then he would go climb mountains by himself and write poetry and sit in his room or garden and write poetry, and spend time with Coleridge, and then steal ideas from Dorothy who was probably helping take care of his children and cooking him dinner and doing his laundry, etc. My rant is over. Wordsworth is a wonderful poet.

Sorry to people who haven't really studied British Literature...