Wednesday, 22 February 2017


Inspired by the song 'Quiet' from Matilda the musical.

Has it ever occurred to you that
If the world did not spin at one thousand miles an hour
We would not exist,
Or could not resist
The heat of the sun,
As we faced it day after day.
Although what would a day be without any night,
Or a night with no chance of seeing the light
Of a new dawn,
Sun rising, over some distant horizon.

It's really quite strange, but the world keeps on turning,
And sometimes it feels like it's hard to keep up,
Heart racing, heart burning,
As time flashes on.
I'm sorry, I know, this is quite hard to say,
In a way,
But it's true and there's nothing that we can ever do.
And it hurts my head as I try to consider
All the things that I have to consider each day,
So I pray, and I say,
Oh please let it stop for just once.
I can't stand the noise,
The rushing and shouting,
Is anyone counting
The vanishing hours,
Of a world that is whirling too fast.
There's no rest from this mess,
The distress of our personal quests,
And I'm running too fast
At some blank last moment,
And then at that moment
And just out of nowhere
And rushing towards me
I find coming at me...


When the world seems to come to stop, without really stopping. Just moving around me, like an ocean, and me on a small sailing boat.

Tranquillity. Amid all the chaos.
And all I can hear
Is the air
As my cares are carried away.

And there is stillness.
Like snow falling on snow; there's action but the action is soundless, except that there is something there if you listen, which you can, because in that heavenly place your mind is released from everything else.

And there in that moment, I find there is comfort,

Like I'm held,

Deep in the arms of the sun.

Wednesday, 15 February 2017

Two days in Snowdonia

Aside from crawling through the road works around Conwy (not literally) the drive to north Wales was fairly pleasant. I'd given myself two days to do as much walking in Snowdonia as possible, and I succeeded in hiking over 15 miles, including reaching the summit of the impressive mountain, Carnedd Dafydd.
     The weather was poor, and very windy, but I thoroughly enjoyed the steep climb up Pen yr Ole Wen. I had to cross the top, which had large patches of snow covering, in the cloud, but I found the cairn on Carnedd Dafydd, and my way back, without falling off the edge (obviously).

Pen yr Ole Wen; there's a path there somewhere.

The view south from Pen yr Ole Wen.

Returning to the car an hour before the Youth Hostel (Idwal Cottage - the oldest YHA in Britain, I'll have you know) opened, meant I had time to stroll around the tarn, seen in the centre of the picture above, and take a closer look at the frozen waterfalls, starkly white against the dark rocks (you can just about make out one of them).

Today I had ideas of attempting Tryfan or Glyder Fach, but while the wind was slightly lessened the clouds were heavier and lower and around 11am it started to rain. I'd headed up to the south side of Tryfan but backtracked and dropped down on the east side completing a circle of the mountain. I had another look at the north ridge but the clouds were still hanging around so I headed down to Llyn Ogwen and a boggy walk around it's father shore. Of course by the time I was back at the car and preparing to return home the clouds had lifted and the sun starting to shine through. Such is life in the hills.

Tryfan (without clouds on top) seen from Pen yr Ole Wen


Thursday, 9 February 2017

A place like no other

There was a time when the earth was wild and waste. The land featureless, barren, silent; the ground baked hard by a relentless sun, while vicious winds whipped the seas.
     We could have existed then, in hardship, on dismal deserts. Surviving without living. Beauty unknown. But the earth brought forth plants, of a million colours, and the land was formed into moutains and valleys, with snow on the peaks and little rivers flowing down past pleasant meadows to golden beaches of soft sand, and the salty sea.
     Why is the grass green or the sky blue, or a sunset such a perfect myriad of reds and yellows? And is there anything more delicate than than a spider's web on a frosty morning?
     We are blessed to live in such a paradise and call it home; and if you offered me another option, I would, without hesitation, decline.