Our cottage renovation in Snowdonia is almost complete. Having spent most of my time there over the past few months, it has been interesting to watch spring turn to summer. Quite different from the countryside of my childhood in Hertfordshire.
Our favourite walk is out from the back of the cottage, with the bright yellow and sweet smell of the prickly gorse gladdening our hearts on chill spring days. We squeeze through it’s branches on a mainly untrodden footpath, heading to high above Llyn Padarn where we sit and watch the ever changing light on Snowdon and the surrounding mountains – peace reigns, souls replenish. ```
After a short step downhill we reach my favourite view of Snowdon and Llyn Padarn, from the bridge at Brynrefail. The view is always the same, timeless, but light and season make it totally different everytime. I have been there on bright sunny days when fluffy clouds fill the sky, seen clouds hang in the valley, hovering over the water, waiting to escape back up to the sky. I have stood, when the mists were down and watched swans gliding over the water, the only noise in a silent world. In the evenings the setting sun over Anglesey turns Snowdon and its inevitable cloud through all the shades of pink. Even more special is that all this is reflected in the deep waters of Llyn Padarn.
After the gorse, the bluebells appeared. I just love bluebells. Hiding on the shadier banks, they took us by surprise as we climbed the mountainside. I had a strong urge to go and sit among them, to become part of their blue cloth. To surround yourself with such beauty must surely uplift the soul.
As far back as I can remember, every spring of my life, I have listened for the Cuckoo. There was always an excited buzz in our house when the first one was heard, we would all rush outside to listen. When I have been at the cottage in previous years the sound was synonymous with spring. So I was disappointed that I only heard it few times this year, but at least I did hear it, which, for some unexplained reason, was important to me.
We watched the bluebells begin to fade as the first foxgloves started to flower and I was amazed how quickly the bracken grew up to hide the dying flowers. The dog roses came out and I couldn’t resist stopping to smell them. The mew of the Buzzards regularly breaks the still air, I fantasize that they are calling me; mew is my initials!
I have noticed that the foxgloves are now displaying their final top few gloves and will soon be over. The mountainsides are now purple with heather and I wonder what will be next as Autumn approaches?
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