‘Can you stop the car,’ I ask my partner as we near our accommodation for the week in the Lake District in England. She pulls to the side of the road, behind a series of cars parked in a lay-by. I open the door and step out. ‘I’ll be back in a minute.’ I sprint over the small stretch of tarmac separating me from the woods. The ground is spongy as I reach the earth. I am surprised by the feedback under my shoes, water releasing as I put pressure on the tufts of grass. I am reminded of bogs I traversed barefoot, cold peat winding its way between my toes, surprisingly soft. I hop from mound to mound, avoiding the sludgy dark brown patches. They shine with wetness, and I do not know how deep I would sink into them. I disappear behind a row of trees and stop to inhale the air. It is damp and fresh. I treasure the moisture in the air, keeping me cool and my asthma under control. I lean forward to a pine tree and press my fingers on dripping sap, streak of liquid translucent drops of gold. My skin sticks to the resin. I pull away and bring my hand to my nose. Once again, I take a deep breath, the peppery mint scent of the sap uncoiling waves of memories. Eyes closed, I touch the resin on my finger with my tongue. It tingles with pleasure. I giggle like a child and run back to the car. ‘Smell this,’ I eagerly tell my partner as I shove my hand under her nose. ‘Smells nice,’ she replied hesitantly. ‘Yeah, it does.’ My voice trails off back into the woods. ---*--- We make it to our accommodation with some daylight to spare. I sit outside to look at the fell at the end of the village. Clouds are dancing with the top, swirling, caressing the earth. A soft drizzle falls on my shoulders, but I do not mind. The air is warm and I have a cup of tea cradled in my hands. My fingers are still sticky with pine sap. I do not want to wash it away. I do not know very much about this place. The Lake District is filled with stories and wonder. My colleagues and friends have all uttered sound of excitement when I told them of my partner and I holiday plans. I was not as excited. I had seen images and videos of the national park but there is a gulf between what is represented and what is. In that moment, watching a fell through the haze of rain and clouds, I think I am starting to understand what draws people here. Though I suspect my reasons are different than my colleagues. I feel held in this landscape of hills and lakes. I have not yet explored any of it, but already the landscape provides me with comfort. ---*--- In the morning, I step outside of the cottage to make my way to the fells. I have no intention of getting to the top. Clouds still hang low in the sky and my navigation skills are not that good that I can orientate myself safely in a bank of white. The top has little appeal anyway. I want to explore the hills, not conquer them, and proclaim my dominion over the landscape. I walk through fields, driveways, and narrow roads until the path peters out to a faint indentation in the grass. Water rises over my hiking boots with every step. I kneel to touch the soft moss. If it weren’t saturated with water, I would lie down and let time move without me. But my clothes are not waterproof and the water is cold. I walk on, finding a beck cascading down from the top. I sit atop a makeshift bridge and watch the water flow until the wind catches me and I shiver. I stand up and check my watch. I need to start looping back on myself and leave the fell behind for now. ---*--- ‘This route looks good.’ I show my partner a wiggly road that joins where we are to where we want to go. We both know we probably won’t make it to our destination, not for the intended purposes of having a look around anyway. The entire week has been filled with detours and stops at every turn to explore a forest, a lake, a fell, or all three for a couple of hours. ‘Sure. Let’s go for it.’ We drive off, the sun at our back, the clouds in front of us. The ethereal mass of greys and whites has been present all week, only parting to reveal blue sky on rare occasion. I have enjoyed its presence as a blanket cocooning me into safety. The road narrows until it reaches the bottom of a tall fell. We stop the car and look at each other, unsure whether the car can make it to the top. ‘It’s steep,’ I comment flicking my phone open to the OS Map. ‘Yeah, it’s steep,’ I assert a second time as I look at a cluster of small black arrowhead on my screen. ‘Do you think the car can do it?’ ‘Sure.’ A tinge of uncertainty in her voice undermines her word. We get off the car, transfixed by the wall of earth and rock in front of us. Next to us, lambs are running with each other, bleating every now and again in a call to their mother when they have lost sight of her. It is odd to witness such mundane scenes at the same time as the grandiose rise of a mountain. Myths spring to mind and I cannot stop imagining long ago gods watching down on me, daring me to go up and break a solemn vow never to attempt reaching their height. ‘Let’s go,’ my partner calls. ‘Okay.’ My voice trembles. The car roars as the road steepens. I clench my hand on the door, the plastic heating up under the warmth of my skin. I can hear the gods laugh at us. The car stops at a bend, my partner slamming her foot on the brake pedal. We look at each other. I step out, my heart thumping in my chest. I take a deep breath as my feet touch solid unmoving ground. ‘Can you start the car,’ I question, my voice found again. She tries and the motor sputters into life. The car drops a few inches back before my partner slams the brake again, the engine still running. I walk around the car to make sure there is room for maneuver. ‘You should be good.’ In truth I have no idea. It looks fine but I have never started a car in my life, let alone driven one. My partner lets go of the brake and the car bolts upwards in a raucous of noise I’ve never heard coming out of it. Soon she is out of sight, a red dot speeding up a mountainside. I stand alone for a moment, uncertain what do to, my body vibrating with adrenaline. And then I laugh, and run, and stumble, and fall, and rise, and run some more until I collapse into the wet spongy earth, rocks massaging my frantic body. I close my eyes and sigh, feeling water seep through the cotton strands of my jumper. Water and sweat mix on my back, chilling my skin until my brain starts to worry and I get up. I walk the last few meters to the top where my partner is waiting for me. I am grinning like an idiot. ‘You okay?’ She too has a glint in her eye. ‘Yeah.’ I notice a trail of smoke rising from the bonnet as the acrid smell of burning dust hit my nostrils. ‘Is the car okay?’ I imagine having to abandon the car as an offering to the gods lingering in the land. ‘It’s hot.’ She laughs and I know it is okay. ‘Ready to go down?’ I turn my back to the car and look at the sharp edge rocks all around, the wind chilling my skin. ‘Thank you,’ I breathe out to the spirits I cannot see. ‘Thank you.’ I climb back into the car and we begin our descent back to earth. At the bottom we decide to skip the second pass and wind our way along the river to our destination. Neither of us can quite remember where that is supposed to be. We stop the car at a car park, my body still pulsing with energy. I jump out, take my shoes off, and sink my feet into the gentle current of the river. I expected a shock, but the water is surprisingly gentle and warm. I close and my eyes and ground myself, focusing on the prickle of stones I stand on. ‘Thank you,’ I utter again but this time to the earth below my feet that welcomes me and nurtures me. ---*--- I sink into the warm water of the bath. The heat of the water has steamed the windows translucent warm, the hills stolen from my view. I can hear lambs bleating in the field opposite the cottage. A crow joins in their call, their loud dissonant voice contrasting sharply with the small inquiring voices of the lambs. I inhale deeply and dip my entire body under the water. My body relaxes, letting go of the adrenaline still held within its bounds. I breath out slowly, air bubbles popping above my head. Is this what we used to feel when scaling mountain tops and diving deep into lakes? Did we hear the whispers of the gods booming inside of us? Did we heed their warnings? My chest contracts from lack of air but I refuse to emerge into the above world of air and light. I release one last gasp from my lungs and hung uncomfortably between the enamel of the bath and the freedom of the air until I feel fear coursing through my cells. My head breaks the surface and I breathe with my mouth wide open. The room is still shrouded in mist. I remember the clouds on the mountain top, ensnaring me into a small enclave of land. The earth could have stopped behind their boundaries and I would not have known. And yet, through the blinding exhilaration, I felt safe. As long as I did not trespass the boundaries set by the clouds, as long as I did not linger into the night, I was still held by the landscape. I rest my head on the rounded edge of the bath. My mind is empty of thoughts, my body quiet save for the draw of oxygen. I can hear the muffled tones of a mellow jazz tune rising from the ground level of the cottage, the shuffle of my partner's feet as she readies a soup for dinner. ---*-- 'I'm going up,' I declare. 'There's a ring of stones I want to check out.' My partner follows me, a few paces behind. I skip up the incline of the path, my body relaxed and at ease in the landscape of trees, damp earth, and hills. I hop over a fence and unlock my phone. 'It's not far,' I exclaim to my partner. 'I won't be long,' I add as I see her struggle the last of the incline. In contrast, I grow nimble and supple in this landscape, my feet finding purchase easily on the rocky path. I hop and canter without a second of hesitation, my body balancing itself naturally on the uneven ground and before long I find myself at the forest edge. Ahead of me, a field contoured by fells. I check the map. The ring of stone is nearby. I look ahead, trying to spot it. I know it's only a few small stones scattered into a vague circle. It had nothing to do with Stonehenge and everything to do with a small offering to the long ago gods, a passageways for fairies and the like to traverse from their world to ours. I walk across the grass, my eyes to the ground until I spot what I'm looking for. Under a lone pine trees, a small gathering of broken stones the size of pebbles lie. I wonder how long it's been there for. Long enough for it to become a feature on the map. Do people change the stones still when they weather and roll? I stand next to the tree for a moment, too afraid to step too close to the circle lest I be carried away from this world. 'Is that it,' my partner asks as she spots me next to the tree. 'Yeah. It is.' She nods and walks away towards the view of a lake craddled by distant fells. She has lived away from the land for too long to feel the lingering whisper of the long ago. Myths and legends swirl with science and facts in this place. Both exist with the other in a balance I so easily forget in my daily life, trapped by the whirlwind of cities and technology. I think of our small garden at home, a place of solace in my daily life. There, I can feel the rotation of the earth. I can lie down and listen to the constant rumble of cars as if they are the distant waves of the ocean. I can touch the apple tree and be reminded of Paris facing the pride and wrath of fickle gods that were never truly mine but that I know best. I yearn for a connection to the land,  to the past that comes so easily here. In a couple of days we will return to our urban lives and I know I will forget as concrete, brick, and metal will encase me once more. I will be swept by the tide of screens, spreadsheets, and the flow of busyness that makes up the layers of my life. I still do not know how to untangle myself. I don't think I ever can. For too long, I have carved myself a place in this structure and while I linger at the edges, I will forever have a foot in it. I nod at the stones and walk away before I am tempted away from my time and join my partner a little further on. We sit on the grass and watch time go by. A cuckoo sing its deep song peacefully in the distance, their voice carried by the wind. Clouds roll over the fells by the distant lake as they have done for the entire week. A group of people settles a good distance from us and laugh and chat happily. I lie down on the ground. It is dry and rocky here. I press my body down, willing it to remember this place, this feeling of belonging here in this landscape of hills. ---*--- I sit atop a stone wall near the cottage we're staying it as night draws near. Only a week has gone past but already the view is familiar. I trace the outline of the horizon with my fingers, the fells round and soft in the twilight. The lambs have fallen quiet, sitting or grazing near their mother. Lights are starting to illuminate the inside of houses. No one is about. A bird I cannot identify sings a few repeated notes in the softness of the world and my heart breaks. It opens and swells in my chest, hurting as it pushes against the edges of its cage. Tears pool in my eyes. I let them fall quietly, an offering to all that is lost, all that is, and all that could be. I sit on the wall, my vision blurred, my body aching and growing cold, until my tears stop. Reluctancly, I walk back to the cottage. I open the window of the bedroom where our bags are and let the world seep into the house. Outside and inside merge and dance. The air fresh and full of the whispering long ago.