He lives by our back door. He likes people, blades of grass and flower bulbs. He also likes the limelight. I suspect he has not long for this world.
Non-descript this tiny yellow flower may be but after years of waiting this little indicator plant finally emerged from our wild-flower meadow this month. Yellow Rattle; aka Cockscomb; aka the meadow maker (Rhinanthus minor) will suck the life out of the choking grasses and give the flowers the headstart they need.
Special thanks to the dog walkers of Meifod this morning. The joyful site of a dog turd swinging in a tree fair warms the heart on a feisty mid-winter morning. And as the low sun glinted off the primrose yellow bag, I was put in mind of fragrant forest walks and the promise of the year to come.
Oh doggy bag, what treasures lie within thee?
Walking Wednesday again. So we headed back to the Berwyns. We started off at the flesh pot of Pistyll Rhaeadr (Pistol Rider FFS!). We climbed up via Moel Sych and down Moel Ewig along the lonely heather and bog-stompy ridge to the lonely outpost of Godor.
I was trying out a new anorak, and so, armed with my copy of “The Observer’s book of British Fences” we spent the day taking photos of the miles of rusted sheep-netting to be found out there. These melancholic works of art are as much the landscape as the rocks, peat hags and endless folds of heather.