Further up and Further in

[smokingboot]

Welsh magic is real. It may start with Summer beyond the Severn, pretty much a miracle in itself; I don't think in all my years I have managed a weekend there that lacked rain, with sunshine as a kind of sparkly interval at best. This weekend it was so close to Heaven that in fact Heaven got mentioned, specifically C.S. Lewis' definition of it as a story with each chapter being better than the one before. We were almost there as we wandered by the little streams of Cefn Onn while above us, trees beamed in a kind of beatific majesty. Can anyone ever really describe the loveliness of a wood? Very close to Heaven, and even closer was the beach at Southerndown, with the sun bright over the sea, the cliffs nearby that draw one towards exploring always, the castle, and the cliffs and the promise of another country.

We were hoping for more, but the poorliness of our host's little son prevented it. Still, it was a grand weekend, and I can see how one might fall in love with Wales. Even the trip back was fabulous, popping the top on the mini and enjoying the green and the breeze. All I needed was a headscarf and pair of sunglasses, and I could have been Grace Kelly, or, more likely, Brigit Jones.