The crossroads...

So up to the crossroads, the sky in the distance blue and clear.

Edern, Nefyn, Dinas, all marked then onwards up the hill to Ceidio, ducking into the deep shadow of the lane as we climbed.

I love this time of year. The hedgerow at its best - red campion, foxglove, ragged robin, white daisies, deep green, bright red, almost lime grasses whichever way I look and looking back the dapple of the lane painting pictures on the grey of the chipped, cracked tarmac. What a day for pictures. First a Monet, now a charcoal sketch by artist unknown.

It was one of those roads where the grass grows in the centre, a green stripe of life against the pour of chippings and tar - part road, part track, but in any case not exactly a thoroughfare.

Small brown butterflies ducked in and out between us as we climbed. High above darting swallows swooped, collecting a late lunch on the wing, and everywhere the buzz of flying insects and the raze of grasshoppers.

What a day.

And walking on, my breath coming in short shallow gasps as we climbed, the promise of the sky to come.