View from a hill

Abergavenny's Sugar Loaf, seen from the hill known locally as the Gaer.

Dad and I have been coming up here together, alone, or with others for as long as I can remember. An Iron Age hill fort gives the place its name. Even in today's haze, it's possible to see half a dozen or more old counties. Up above the tree line, we're also remoter from some of the changes that have taken place in the valley below over the last half century. There are changes here too, but the newly proprietorial ravens have an air of reclaiming something long lost, rather than interloping.

We don't say much, but enough to know that we share our pleasure in the sense of place we both get from being up here.

It's been a year or two since we were here, longer since it was just me and dad. I'm not sure when the next time will be, and so I treasure these quiet moments up here on the edge, between countries and cultures, decades and eras, the flat lands and the hills, broken only by the song of skylarks and pipits, and the conversation of the ravens, who will still be there after we've gone.

It's been a good visit, but it's time to leave, back up the motorway into the night, and everyday life.

Eponymous tune: http://m.youtube.com/watch?v=4MwVv28aZ2U