On my way from Windermere to Kendal, I spotted a shepherd maneuvering his herd. He didn’t have an iPhone and wasn’t in any sort of hurry. His only worry was the movement of his sheep. He was surrounded by the moist grassland for miles in every direction. The air was oxygen-fresh and the land slithery smooth. I couldn’t observe his facial expressions but I knew right then that all innocent children stories are written here, in a place like Kendal. A sort of place where there is no pressure of deadlines, no worries of pollution, and no sense of crime. Stories so naive, where all humans are created equal and no one is starved. Stories so morally inclined, where the right always beats the wrong and there’s always a lesson to be learned. Stories so heartwarming, where animals play all day and children fall asleep with a soothing smile. Children stories are real and the once upon a time’s and happily ever after’s do exist, in a place like Kendal.
in a place like Kendal