As I mentioned in the previous post, the Lake district was wet, even by its standards, but a small patch of sun over Crummock Water transformed it. I always think it's an unjustly ugly name for such a lovely lake, makes it sound muddy, rather rocky and full of litter and rubbish.
Ash trees, long may they fight the die-back, have this wonderful habit of losing their insides to become Elf-dwellings. This is a particular favourite on the path up to Angle Tarn from the Langstrath Inn (good grub too)
This silver birch is something of a contortionist, starting at X, it fell over when the bank eroded, hit the torrent at Y, went with the flow for a while, then started to grow like a proper tree at Z
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