From the lane above the village, the view north towards Snowdonia was indistinct and murky. I’d been hoping to see the range of hills beyond the Dovey estuary clearly outlined against the sky, but the lack of contrast was such that only the remnant banks of snow still lurking below the ridge crests were clearly visible. The unremitting flatness of the light gave the foreground a depressed, jaded look, drained of colour in the way that only February grassland seems able to achieve.
The snow may have gone from all but the highest land, but the temperature was still only marginally above freezing – a degree of bleakness compounded by the breeze from the north-west, which found its way through my jacket with numbing ease.
Sheltering briefly between two earth banks, I noticed that recent hedge trimming had revealed an old bird’s nest I’d previously missed. That corner of the lane often hosts a pair of noisily territorial robins, and the site looked a good match for them. Hopefully, the spring growth will soon cover the nest once more. Several layers of construction speak of the re-use of the nest on a number of occasions, and I’ll discreetly check back in a couple of months to see if there are any occupants.
It is good to see the hedge maintenance was done outside the breeding season – my discovery last year of a young blackbird not far from here, its neck apparently broken by the flail as the bird gorged on blackberries, lingers unpleasantly.
Beyond the hilltop, the view – still misty – of Cardigan Bay opened up, but as the sun began to set, the featureless grey dome of the sky finally gained some definition as broad streamers of warm colour bled into the western sky, framed by the bare, open framework of some chestnut trees.
Sunset is now being forced back by a precious two minutes every day, giving a very real indication that the worst of the winter is behind us. Spring won’t arrive a moment too soon: I’ve spent enough time in cold weather to last me well into next autumn, thank you.
