I found this again tonight mme on Mynydd Myrddin, Merlin’s Mountain.
And I found this too, a quote from John Lewis-Stempel’s book about the natural history of a meadow in his farm in Herefordshire in Meadowland: The Private Life of an English Field. The book begins:
THE ICE MOON is already rising over Merlin’s Hill as I go down to the field at late evening to watch for snipe. There is real cold on the back edge of the wind, which rattles the dead tin-foil leaves left clinging on the river oaks. As I open the gate, my heart performs its usual little leap at the magnificence of the view: the great flatness of the field, its picture-frame of hedgerows, the sloping smoothness of Merlin’s Hill to the left, then right around me the forbidding dam wall of the Black Mountains. There is snow along the top of the mountains, snow as smooth as wedding cake.
He followed this in a similar fashion with The Running Hare: The secret life of farmland (2016).
I feel this tonight. This afternoon, I heard a rumour that I might lose my home here in his land, that he led me to. Please all the gods, help me to stay if that is what Merlin needs …