England's Lake District is beautiful. That's the plain truth. Wordsworth, of course, said it more poetically. The water of Lake Windemere mirrored the sky. Mist hung on the hills and caught in the branches of the trees. Fall is just setting in and there are russet and gold trees among the green. By noon, the haze had burned off and patches of blue peeked through the clouds. I'll have great memories of this day -- but few pictures. Alas, there are few stopping places along the road and, being part of a tour, I was at the mercy of the bus driver. I wonder if he would have seen the daffodils?
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