I wake this Sunday morning with a familiar restlessness, the kind that arrives before thought has time to intervene. The high, open hills of Bleaklow are calling with the steady pull of inevitability. Some days begin with intention, some with invitation. This is both.

Today is the Saturday before Christmas, and the world greets us with a rare winter kindness: wide blue skies, golden sunshine, and the promise of a day without rain. It is my first full weekend of freedom since starting a new job in October—and the first dry one in some time. We set out with excitement and intent. This day will not be wasted.