Furness abbey

The Abbey was busy. Children running around everywhere, noise, sound all around. Guides were showing round groups of rowdy tourists from all countries eager to see the sights of the beautiful wrecked monastery. Every Language flying round in the air like bees buzzing round a hive, all proclaiming the same thing in there own tongue. The fact that the monastery was so beautiful. Everywhere there were people and children. All the words were indistinguishable, just becoming one of many that rose up like a great cry to the heavens. The abbey was like a bright and vibrant tear in the tranquil and peaceful countryside.  

No animals were to be seen amongst the stonewalls some so high and beautifully adorned that you wondered whether you were still in the north west of England, or whether you were in another world of pure beauty. Others were so meagre and ruined that it was impossible to see how they could have been walls at all. All of nature looked dulled in comparison with the vibrancy of the abbey. Here it was clear that humans had total and complete control and Mother Nature had no power. The sun was high in the sky shining brightly overhead bearing down with hot burning fingers piercing the skin and tearing at the flesh within. A slow stream snaked lazily round a bend, licking the corners but never quite touching them it seemed. Then the stream rose up to meet with the main hall of the abbey and they two joined like lovers as the stream ran down to the east wing.

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Now the noise was ceasing, dying back as if cut by an invisible sword it was loosing its grip on the would be quiet abbey ruins. The children were being taken away in coaches and cars. The air stilled and calmed like the eerie feeling after a storm. Everyone gone the abbey was emptying; its crowds were dead. The sun bathed the entire building in a warm and comforting light like a mother snuggling a small baby, the sun comforted the abbey. But night was fast approaching and the sun also was dying. Fading away, the warm globe of ...

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