Lancashire and Yorkshire in February

Head north, turn east along the M65, come off at Barrowford, keep going through the houses until they run out and - wow!  First Lancashire and then Yorkshire were at their stunning best today, snow dusted over the higher areas and lingering in the shadow of walls, the sun gilding everything,  tree silhouettes still starkly wintery, a skyline hill painted in smoky midnight blue and sandy gold (no, really.  It was incredible).

I decided that today was a good day to visit our Hot Bed Press exhibition at the Lime gallery, just south of Settle (trying to avoid missing it altogether through procrastination).  When the sun peeped coyly through a light veil of cloud, it seemed a good enough omen, and off I set.  It was utterly glorious, with sweeping hillsides, fields crowded with sheep and crows, the Ribble (?I think) full to the very brim and snaking peacefully across the scenery, distant snow-covered peaks.  I don't quite know how I survive drives through drop-dead gorgeous scenery, I seem to spend so much time looking everywhere and trying to soak it all up, but some part must still concentrate on the road and oncoming traffic. 

I like the gallery - it's small but bright and well lit and I thought the exhibition looked good there.  However, I didn't linger; I was keen to see if I could make it up to the Ribblehead Viaduct before turning homewards.  I've never been, and Settle is so close by that it seemed foolish not to take the opportunity.  I'm glad I did - it all just went on being glorious, and the viaduct, well I suppose it looked rather like its pictures but it was as dramatic as I could have hoped. 

So it was pretty much dusk as I cut back across country to Gisburn (road closed, and I was trying to avoid the massively long diversion I'd followed on the way up) but that was alright.  It's just driving through the pitchy black without street lights that I try to avoid (too much urban living - I've lost the knack).  Closer to home, Pendle - as snow-clad as anything further north - loomed even more from this direction, first glowing white against the darkening sky and then taking a chance to be all misty and moody in a sudden blizzardy squall (briefly looking hauntingly like a Norman Ackroyd etching).  l If only I didn't have things that need doing, I'd repeat the whole trip tomorrow.