Long before the Romans built their two forts at Caersws, the ridge to the west of the town was dominated by the ramparts of Cefn Carnedd. In the low afternoon sunshine the defensive banks that still rise above the hillside woodland were picked out by deep shadows.
The iron-age fortress stands above a kempt farmed landscape drained by the afon Hafren (river Severn) as it meanders across the valley floor. Only a few miles from where it rises, gathering volume from the tributary streams funnelling in from the many side valleys, it has already changed from a lively moorland torrent to a broad, stately, river in comfortable middle age.
The Severn Way, a long-distance trail that tracks the river from source to sea, follows the break of slope between the north side of the flood plain and the steep woods of the valley side.
Water filtering down the hill had collected in the muddy sloughs of the path, making progress difficult, but after days of gale force winds, the welcome gentle breeze was just enough to move the seedheads of the rushes bordering the route.
On this quiet autumn weekday I was the only traveller on the path, and to judge from the startled reaction of pheasants and rabbits alike it was little frequented in this season.
Low over the wet grassland a solitary heron beat purposefully along with slow flaps of its broad wings, while high above a buzzard soared idly, gazing with obvious attention at the ground below – occasionally stooping sharply as it spotted an item of potential interest.
The wind began to pick up as the afternoon wore on, lifting dry oak leaves in short-lived vortices and starting to move the larger branches. Long lines of cloud, picked out in evening colours, advanced from the south-west and a new chill came to the shade of the woodland.
Looking at the map, I measured my progress against the distance to my destination and realised I had lingered too long. Setting a new pace, I headed off, determined not to be further distracted.
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