Almost home

Ffordd looked towards the horizon thinking, what a perfect end to a great day. Even the sheep had behaved themselves, content in the sweet-smelling grasslands bordering its route. A kite whistled its mate causing Ffordd to look up into an eruption of smoke and fire, Cwmwl’s flushed complexion radiating the promise of another fine day to follow. Warmed by the prophecy, Ffordd continued optimistically into the night, snaking its way from beginning to end and back, on its infinite journey through a never-ending landscape.

While driving through the Cambrian mountains, I found myself contemplating the idea of beginnings and endings and realised that although roads have a start and a finish, journeys never end; they are always wandering from one point to another. This idea of always moving, constantly roaming through scenery as dramatic as that which Ffordd winds through, sounds like a dream, and one that I glimpsed in my rearview mirror that evening.