Sometimes I need help to appreciate my own backyard. Like Dorothy, it takes a journey over the rainbow and a few adventures before I remember ‘there’s no place like home’.It’s good to be still after 4000 miles in the campervan.
I'm not the only one who's come home.Wading through bluebells at Coed y Felin I hear a pied fly-catcher. I’m always startled at how they find their way from Africa to this small patch of Flintshire woodland. A dapper male sings, 'tree-tree, once more I come to thee.'
While shopping for plants in Mold market, I hear swifts screaming overhead. Young swifts spend their first two or three years in constant flight. I grin at them charging up and down the high street sky like a gang of teenagers.
I visit Moel Famau where
the call of a cuckoo fills the spaces between the clouds. People stop on the hill,tilt their heads to one side and smile. Skylarks sing high over acid green bilberry shrubs that promise a tongue-staining bounty in late summer.
Drinking tea at the welcoming Shepherd's Hut, I watch small children tumble down the heathery hill as a willow warbler tumbles down the scales.
Right now my goal is to simply ‘BE’ and there’s no better place to be than at home in Flintshire.
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