noble and benevolent are now mountains, intimidating and unforgiving, looming rather than rolling, multiplying in size and number, becoming angrier under darkening skies. Standing among them, the only person in a vast and empty landscape, I feel both utterly insignificant and intensely scrutinised at the same time.The sound and sight of rain landing on the map could easily be mistaken for falling teardrops. Yet, and for reasons I can't explain, I continue to prefer my own judgment over that of the compass or the GPS, both of which are obviously broken and useless.
from The Guardian: Poetry in motion: Simon Armitage walks the Pennine Way
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