‘Crit . . . crit . . . crit . . .’ It was the sound that drew me to the window of The Coniston room, where I was cleaning the bedroom after a couple of guests had left us this morning after breakfast. I stopped making the bed and looked out. All was still, and all I could see was a mass of grey. There are normally some phenomenal scenic views from The Coniston room, but not today: heavy mist, almost as thick as an enveloping fog, had descended upon Bowness village; so much so that Lake Windermere and its surrounding fells were totally obscured from view.
I spent some minutes trying to pinpoint the source of the sound. I could see a few birds wheeling about, but it was definitely not the cry of birds. Besides, it was a steady and rhythmic ‘crit . . . crit . . . crit . . .’ The maker or makers of the noise sounded contented. I had no need to worry about it or their welfare.
Moving on to The Langdale room, where Hubby sat reading the morning paper, I asked him whether he had heard the sound which had by now continued for at least 15 minutes. I wondered aloud whether frogs could be making this mysterious noise that seemed to combine the call of frogs with that of crickets. It is winter, and I doubt that crickets would be out in force in the gardens of neighbouring homes. Hubby did not think that the sound could be made by frogs, saying that though he had seen a number in the woods behind our house, he had not found large enough numbers to croak out today’s chorus.
I gave up. And decided instead to simply relish the cosiness of being cocooned at home in Blenheim Lodge rather than venturing out of doors today. I think a couple of our guests felt the same way, because they remained indoors until early afternoon before venturing out into a mist that would not lift.
Thus has 6th January 2013 fled. I have spent the whole day indoors, working on the script and music for a YouTube video about Blenheim Lodge and replying to emails. Then, I decided to spoil myself with some downtime, reading the Sunday papers and watching television. I even treated my waistline to a bag of crisps, an eclair and chocolate! Indulgence indeed!
I cannot say that I would have enjoyed driving in the fog-like mist today, but am glad that some guests arriving today got here safely. Visibility is approximately 20-30 feet, which is not too bad. At the back of the house, banks of mist seem to have taken a guardian’s stance towards the acres of National Trust land on the other side of our fence. Poor Hubby had to take the dogs out for a walk this afternoon, but did not wander far.
The fog seems to have dumbed everything down; and aside from the few homes and land we can see near us, all is silent and still. What a great setting for a mysterious tale! So, who or what was making that ‘crit . . . crit . . . crit . . . ‘ noise? I do not know, and have ceased to care. The cosy friendly comfort that envelops one and all at Blenheim Lodge is what matters most. Let me wrap myself in it, and enjoy what is left of this peaceful evening.
Blenheim Lodge . . . panoramic Lake views, peace and tranquillity, nestled against acres of beautiful fields and woodlands, in the heart of the English Lake District National Park.’
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