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The location to be clarified is completely fanciful, even though it might bear some similarity to some childhood memory of yours. The home and surrounding areas and hills (for it is these I will endeavour to explain in different seasons) are so exquisitely scenic: The long, wide, oak slatted cottage together with all the rolling areas extending far into the space, and beyond. Behind the home (because I like to call it) is an expanse of a three hundred or so yards before abruptly halting to make way for a flow. The flow is like one time itself forgot, like the one you would expect to find fairies sitting by. Beyond that the huge mountain range, ominous from a clear blue skies and projecting certain shadows across the home and fields. The snow-capped peaks are those that I have climbed a lot of time; plus they always seem to be different in contour or contour. There's a beautiful horse chestnut tree two fields away from the home, and many others sprinkled around close to it ash, beech, oak, the list continues on and on. ItвЂ™s superbly peaceful up here, no one to disturb you. In fall the landscape changes so much, nearly too much. The leaves drop off the fantastic oak, and it looks so miserable and bare; I've often thought of wrap it up in a blanket. The horse chestnut is yielding fruit (if you can call it that). There is nothing I enjoy more than sitting in front of the log fire and roasting horse chestnuts; marvellous. The fields, once, not long ago were teeming with poppies and f.. .