Today was a day for picture making. The ground was white with frost, the air was clean and crisp. I wanted to immerse myself in the memory of the place that was my home for the first 18 years of my life.
As I sat on the train heading west, the beauty that surrounded me was magnificent and emotive. Magnificent in its sheer presence, and emotive in that I recalled memories that had, for a long time been forgotten. Feelings of times past flooded my whole being bringing with them tears of grief for people long lost. The poignancy of each moment of warm greeting as I would have stepped off the train, now a longing for it once more.
But heading on to Saundersfoot where my sister was meeting me, brought me back to the present, and the joy of once again being in the embrace of my family, knowing that we would enjoy each others company and reminisce the shared days, and the remembered days.
When we arrived in Llanfallteg, we took a familiar path to the bridge that crossed the river Taf. I shot pictures of whatever caught my eye, the white beauty of the frost, the branches, the twigs heaped in a pile at the side of the bank, the 200 year old tree still standing as I remember it. We walked through the fields, no cows or bulls today to stand and stare at us; my memory clear that there had always been cows and bulls, standing side by side, making a path so there was no choice but to walk between them. I wouldn't be true to say that I was ever comfortable in their presence, but I noticed their absence keenly.
On to the gate leading on to the old Roman Road, and up to the Mill, now brazenly adorned with a For Sale sign. Up further to where once stood the Mansion, where we glided down the once magnificent stairs, now gone and in its place an ugly bungalow. I have a photo somewhere of the old mansion taken in the 1970, I must dig it out. The mansion gates still there but no composition I attempted seemed to work. There was too much new leaf, the site was too dark and shadowy, the gates almost obliterated by shiny overgrowth, there was too much of today in the picture of it. I decided to leave it; but I may return and try again another day.
Down the hill still further, I came to another bridge where the stream is now a tangled shrubbery of thistle; once this was a wooded area where we used to play and climb trees. Here I fell, tumbling down when a branch snapped, giving way under my weight. Winded, unable to move, a piercing pain in my wrist, I lay awhile, my immediate thought, what would my mother say! She would be livid I'd been climbing trees. Whether she would have been angry I don't really know, I suspect not. But she could be strict and had "the look"that I avoided at all costs in my youth. I told no one what had happened until a week later when the pain grew too much to bear. I had to admit what had happened, my wrist by now was swollen badly. My mother screeched "why didn't you say." We got in the car, drove to the hospital, an xray, a fractured bone, bandaged. I still have a weak wrist to this day. Always a reminder of the fall, the emotion, and the pain of that day.
There were several other places of memory I could have visited, but that was enough for today. I'll wait to see the results before deciding if I should go back and shoot some more.
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