Sheltering unsuccessfully from the bitter winter wind by a dry stone wall on the Swansea uplands I took a moment to admire the lichen and thought about how it looks as though someone has illustrated it in pen and ink.
I had been persuaded by a herd of cows to cut across the top of Mynydd Gelli instead of circumnavigating it at a lower contour. It’s not that I am scared of cows, but I do think it is sensible to regard them with respect and a degree of caution.
I followed a track that turned out to be an access route to a communications mast which looked as lonely as some of the desperate, broken remains of solitary trees. Situated in this bleak place as exposed to the elements as it is, it was comforting to be able to turn my head and take in the bright but harsh light of the sun over Swansea Bay.
And at my feet, huddling into the crook of the wall, were the remains of that sprinkling of snow – evidence at least that some had fallen.
