This time of year in Wales is seriously beautiful. I say that as though I have experienced the turn of many seasons here, over many years, which i have not, but I still feel as though i can say with authority that this time of year in Wales, is beautiful.
It's the light you see. It's different here than to Australia. It's softer and more gentle and it changes the hills from green to green. Strawberries are having a second season, thanks to the sun and last night, the rain was supposed to freeze in the moonless sky, but the warmth of the day turned it into tiny pin pricks of chill as we stood faces towards the sky. In the village, there are no street lights. Once you get used to a neighbours dog licking your hand in the pitch black and the wobbling torch beams as people search the hillsides for mushrooms, the nights are spectacular. More stars than you could count in a million light years.
As I drove through the forest yesterday, the naked trees reached towards each other like arteries, each branch twisting towards another. The sunlight broke through the trunks in perfect pulses like well timed silence between one note and the next.
The snow is coming. The grass is frosty in the mornings now and I hear Welshy's car struggle to start as I curl down further into my bed. The baby kicks and I can't wait to meet her. I want to show her the country that produced her father. A man who stops his car by the side of the road just to watch the patchwork across the fields change colours at dusk.
I want to give her everything, but I will start with the sunlight.