Our perceptions of Time can be whimsical; a week can be a very short span while at filled with so much as to seem a month. This was my experience between the 14th & 21st July spent at the village of Trefriw, about 2 hours from where we live but may have well be another country. Set off the main bustling thoroughfare of the only arterial road of the North Wales coast in a region of small villages, roads where courtesy is essential, and wooded stretches which absorb then stifle the noise we are inclined to make.
Beneath a bridge unimpressed by the traffic runs the River Crafnant, although not filled with the pomp and self-importance of wider and deeper cousins around the world, she runs at her along own steady, bright course, feeding the lush banks each side and lending some energy to help the local woollen mill about its modest trade.
She was in a peaceful mood that day and let me clamber over some of her rocks while singing her own endless soothing anthem.
While these hills will remain; unimpressed by the posturing and gabbling of small-minded folk, stately custodians for those who value peace and tranquillity.
A time and a place to reflect on how grateful we should be when the opportunity comes to be allowed to share in the majesty.