The high life

Before we left Snowdonia this morning, Brome and I took a stroll around a nearby lake.

Rising high out of the ruin of a cottage on the lakeside was this bedstead. We could only guess that perhaps the bed had been left there when the cottage had been abandoned and that the trees had grown steadily through the building, lifting it into the air as they grew.

Now it's time for me to head bedwards but I'm sure mine has all its feet firmly on the ground. Well they were last time I looked.