Here grows grass and herbage in variety. Tender exotics favour more sheltered crannies - here on the top, trees adopt a braced posture against the winds that holler in from up the valley.
Today the top of a (low) Welsh mountain yielded a fig. Soft and ripe, ready to be photographed as lasting proof of its existence - or even eaten perhaps. Now what did it taste like? I can't be certain. This was the last I saw of it: