From the woods to the tors

Abandoned the garden to trek through the oak covered  slopes of Coed Ty Canol, an ancient forest that once sustained the rural economy via hunting, foraging, coppicing, charcoal-burning, grazing and pannage but is now the preserve of an unique diversity of mosses and lichens.

Sheets of wood anemones and celandines were spread around like spilt confetti (bluebells yet to come) and all the leaves were unfurling in the sunshine. I've never seen the place so parched though - even the soggy areas were dry. We need rain.

Higher up above the treeline four tors (Meibion Glyndwr, the sons of Glyndwr)  stand in a row across the moorland with long views south to the Preseli hills  and north to the coast. After a pause for tea  it was back down to the woods where every glade is upholstered in green velvet. 

I was entranced to see clusters of oak catkins on the low  boughs. They are the male flowers, the female ones are tiny and harder to spot.