I am sat at my desk, my head filled with all sorts of wonderful (to me) things to write and for the life of me; I can't get the words into the correct order. So I thought to myself....what if I just let my fingers take a walk on the keyboard and see what comes up? and here it is, the meanderings of my mind.
The wind is howling outside my windows, when I look through my living room window I can see the curling waves of a sea wild with tempest. The white horses of foam gallop across the bay , hurrying towards the final crash onto the beach, hurling foam into the wild winds grasp to finally smash against the sandunes.
The golfers have all gone home, no one wants to even try hitting that little white ball into this wind.
Below me, clinging to the cliff face are trees that toss their leaves around, mother natures grip as strong as the wind.A contest between the unseen might of the Sylph and the tender looking stalks of the leaves, a few succumb to the battle, the fallen scattered along the twisting, turning roads to gather in their mulching demise along the gutters.
Clouds that this morning had lain sullen and grey; low in the sky ,are now blown high in the atmosphere, lighter in colour, billowing or streaked a mixture of messages. No towers to tell me showers before evening , no fluffy pillows to say all will be well, the sun will shine soon. Instead I see the storms on the horizon whipped into a frenzy of lashing rain that lands in drifts across the landscape and the occasional flash of the sun inbetween.
Not a day for walking, not a day for having to be out there. I feel sorry for the farmers, harvest is coming close, the last thing they need is this weather.

Across the way I can see Harlech Castle. Its grey stones deeper in colour as the rains fall and wash its walls clean. I love the castle. It is my silent gaurdian. As evening falls the Jackdaws come flying back to roost in the Southern Tower , screeching and squawking their way home. They are like a huge moveable cloud across the nights sky.
The moon rises, the spotlights go on and suddenly, in the gathering dusk the Castle looks magnificent. The ancient monument has a different life at night, a secret life that the tourist doesn't see. Jackdaws are not the only visitor. Locals climb into the castle to fulfill a rite of passage, walking the parapets. It doesn't sound much until you try it in daylight...300 foot up from a broken landscape, along a walkway that has the tiniest of walls between you and certain death. How much harder at night. Not just at night though, it has to be at midnight when Owain Glendauers ghost walks and the many soldiers who died their stand to attention again . The silent sentinals of your imagination and the witnesses of your courage.

Beyond the Castle lies The Dragons Spine. Snowdonia Mountain and its attendant range. Beautiful, mystical. Magnificent displays of colour have flashed across the sky before nights blanket falls and this landscape has filled my heart yet again with its beauty.

This place is magical, a place I have found healing for my soul, a place of true connection. Wherever I end my years, this place will be one I shall always remember with true affection.