view down the valley towards Knighton (Powys) - England on the left of picture, Wales on the right (my little camera does not do justice to the stunning view)
We have had such a wonderful few days away, on the Welsh/Shropshire border (in the Middle March), staying on the campsite of our dear acquaintance, Jocelyn, and her husband Jim - a sheep farmer whose land straddles England and Wales, on the upper reaches of the River Teme, and towards the skyline, along a part of Offa's Dyke. No work, but art-journaling, and delicious food prepared in our cosy caravan; rain and more rain, but it did not matter. I crashed out, wrote and read, took photographs (poor!) and retreated into myself. The last poem I wrote before heading for home on Saturday (yesterday), is my Monday offering for poetry aficionados, ahead of time, because tomorrow morning I will be back at work and also stitching like crazy to finish a fabric keepsake for the birthday next Saturday of one of my grand-daughters. Our little holiday was perfect, but as always, it's good to be home.
the last picture I took on Friday evening, before settling down for a final quiet few hours in our caravan; as I walked upstream, a heron lazily rose from the water's edge and flapped towards trees just out of view to the left. I spotted my first water-ouzel, watched a trout hang motionless in the water, maintaining position with scarcely moving fins, and had hoped for the electric-blue flash of a kingfisher. Another time, perhaps; we must return soon - it's been twelve years or more since we were last here.