An Elemental Beginning

Aug 6

Hello to you.

I am beginning this new online journal keeping from a new life beginning. Last weekend, over Lammas (the first of the celtic harvest festivals) and just before the full moon rose, I moved into a little caravan in a valley at the base of the Preseli Mountains. To stay for a while. A next step.

Pembrokeshire is the county I spent the first 18 years of my life. Wales the first 25. It is where I returned last year when a pause and recuperation was called for. I know the south of this county well. Stomping ground across beaches and through swinging pub doors.

But this land looks different from this angle, up here on the northern boundaries. The coast is not so close and near beaches a varied flavour from their southern comrades.

It is wilder up here.

Roads quieter with holiday traffic. More the thrum of farm vehicles and locals who know the back routes between small towns.

In this valley, by a stream. Making nest in the small space of a caravan adorned with three welsh flag stickers. Fierce yet subtle patriotism beamed to the trees.

Out and up the gentle hill, through the newly planted orchard, sits the piece-de-resistance of this new beginning. A little wooden FERAL Studio, all of my own. Invited by friends to inhabit for a while. Somewhere to find feet and roots. A place to think, make and be. The possibilities and potential pulse and purr.

These last few days I have been unpacking and sitting. Looking and listening. Watching the movements of the sun rays, the way the rain slides from the south. How the meadowsweet, heavy with rain, drops over the bridge. How the stream begins to rise to river in a thick downpour.

Here I sleep heavily and well.

The thing - the thing with no name to claim it - that drew me here, back to the elements, away from the full-time four walls, is imbuing the bones and resting the sinew.

Something knows.

Something is letting go.

Putting down all that has been carried.

Releasing.

Out of the blue the stream invites my eyes to spill and my grief cry to mix with the wind.

Here there is little phone reception.

Currently no power supply other than the battery pack I charge in the van cigarette lighter, when driving for amenities. (I post this in a window of power and internet back indoors for an admin afternoon.) To scroll, a slow affair. Easily given up on. To speak is welcomed, in the seat by the open window or on the swing hanging from sweet chestnut.

Here you will find me unfurling.

A new beginning with the dear warmth of a lost friendship nestled in my heart, body longing for her embrace. Building something from the pieces left in the shattering.

Here I will be listening to this piece of land.

Introducing myself to the plant neighbours, feathered neighbours, human folks and the grey cloud and quiet roads.

Here you will hear from me.

I intend to make space each week to write right here and share ongoing tales. The list as a long as my arm of topics the tickle and twist in my mind need an outlet. The “waiting to be just that bit better/more” before I begin to share with you this one precious life ends here.

Here you will be invited to join me.

To write, walk, forge, make ink, connect, collect, be. The first dates for you diaries will be shared with you very soon. Once the fire has been lit, the books unpacked onto shelves and inks, galls, pigment and materials are in their place.

Wishing you well in your here, over by there (as the locals say).

From the wilds of West Wales.