The mountains of my youth are ever welcoming.
From the soft warm heather of summer to the biting winter snows, they are never less than magnificent.
Here at Chapel-en-le-Frith, the overnight snows have blocked the high roads.
So, here one wanders and smells of northern coal, mingle with the salt tang of fish and chips and the clean air of the peaks.
All is redolent with presence and memory.
—
◊♦◊
Get the best stories from The Good Men Project delivered straight to your inbox, here.
◊♦◊
◊♦◊
Photo courtesy of the author.
