It wasn't really a night for walking, but walking we went; up to the Stiperstones and on to one of the settlements made and deserted by c19th miners, The Paddock. There's little to see there now of course - nature is quick to reclaim its own. Vestigial stonework, the lumps and bumps that once were cottages and walls, the fruit trees and the lane which led to work and chapel - all greened over now with grass and moss and lichen.It takes a triumph of imagination to whistle up the beating hearts, the lives and loves of the people who made this place their own. Can I, in my mind's eye imagine the house cow tethered in the corner, the pigs, the fowl - and the days like this when the weather was down and the chimney smoked and whatever was wet would refuse to dry? I try.
And the ponies? They may or may not have been real, appearing as they did out of the mist-muffled hillside to stand and gaze and graze. For all I know they may have dissolved as I walked by. The Stiperstones is that sort of place.
4 comments:
Aw c'mon you cant just leave it like that....tell 'em we are all mad...barking mad over on the other side of the valley......
The above doesn't make one jot of sense now the whole blog is there...I haven't lost the plot ...just water on the brain ...a couple of bucketfuls actually!
It was evocative, it was atmospheric, it was mad...but where is the skylark? the cuckoo? the cornflower blue hills when the mist cleared? We wont talk about stiles and fences and going along the wrong track.....
Souns delightfully atmospheric even with SBS nattering on!Is there nothign left of teh settlement has it all grassed over chapel adn all?
Now that IS magic.
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