September 20th, 2003




I treated myself to a trip to Grizedale Forest this past week. It truly is a treat to be able to tour the countryside during the week and so avoid the last of the tourists. Sally has sold me--given me, would be more accurate because she's charging me pin money (and even that is on "my tab")--her late husband's vintage Aston Martin.

I feel like Diana Rigg tooling about the countryside in my baby blue sportscar.

Anyway, the forest is truly amazing. I spent most of the day on the sculpture trails. They have to be experienced to be believed; even photos can't capture the what it feels like. The silence, the smell of earth and pine--and then you look up to see this astonishing site: a giant metal-sculpted bird swooping down upon you.










Or even worse...






Here is the guardian of the woods, the Green Man at Grizedale.







I made the trip on my own. Peter is not apparently interested in sight-seeing. I may not have quite as much time for sight-seeing myself, as he has offered me a part-time job at Rogue's Gallery. I reminded him that I know nothing about antiques; he just smiled that private smile and said that as he knew little of American school teachers we would "endeavor to educate each other."

The cottage is very quiet at night.