Today I decided to walk to work.
I set off, with book and pen, dogs and camera, up the hill, past toadflax, down to the see and out onto the wild land that is St Davids Head. But this land endured long before St David brought Christianity to the land and will endure long after the memory of him has gone.
The air was filled with birds, linnets, wheatears, pied flycatchers, whitethroats, stonechat, chough, raven, gannet, kestrel, jackdaw, herring gulls and fulmar. What better place to travel to to chase a story that is feathered, ancient. Here there is a stone wall, ditch, barrier of stone again and hut circles still clinging to the land, telling their own story. I wrote, Rosie found a friend, Bella watched the birds and the land.
Although I have tried other bags for carrying book and pen, I always come back to my bag from Scaramanga. Just the right size, just the right length strap, looking beautifully worn and loved now.
We sat for a while, chasing words, dreaming, then home, via a short word chasing on the beach at Porth Melgan.
Home via friends who gave of the scent of summer grass, with velvet noses and dark eyes.
Tired now, needing to paint, wanting to write.