From the Derwent Dam we walked a little further down the long, narrow valley to the lower reservoir. The river still flows, mingling with the waters that flooded the valley and drowned a village.
The water is higher than it was on my last visit, but even so, there are traces of the past, hiding just below the water if you look.
While you might dismiss some of the stones as being part of the dam construction, there are places where it is evident that once there were homes and fields here. It is a strange feeling to look out over the water and the fanciful might imagine the ghosts of the past in the deep.
Spring green banishes such thoughts… tiny white oxalis star the grass. Drifts of pink cuckoo flowers and forget-me-nots form a pastel carpet, and everywhere there are bluebells.
The great swathes of blue are past…
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