sometimes when I can write no more
to talk of nothing matters
I turn my back and close my eyes
there’s a place I go that lives in my head
trees and birds and bracken swirls surround
far from tv’s created reality
where I can walk forever free
where the world has never been
where nothing real can follow me
so when I return one day
to this place you call real
I can see the wood
This stand of trees lies near Braithwaite Fold in Windermere. Whenever I visit the light is always behind the trees, and they stand against the horizon so make for some great silhouettes. I under exposed this shot, and I was experimenting with the processing and settled on this rather dreamy, other-worldly effect. It’s that atmosphere which inspired the poem.
The technique of having a place to go in your head is a great de-stresser, it can be anywhere you like, you can go there whenever you want, and the world can’t follow you.