At the northern edge of the Beguiling-Breccon-Vicans in Cymry, under the shadow of Pen-E-Fan

to the south, and the Black Mountains to the east, the Sits a large stone house.

Angland narrow, with its rickety roof and jumbled patchwork of brick, it lies at the intersection

of two winding lanes, surrounded by a thick ring of oak, alder, and witch-elm, hidden from

prying eyes by the holly, the Hawthorne, and the ash.

From the front, ivy pours greedily at its northern flanks, almost as if it were trying to

drag its down and into the ground.

While from the back, the way the earth rises up into a rugged clearing of thick scrub, it

would be forgiven for thinking it was part way to succeeding.

Its name is Heol Fanok, or in English, road to the peaks, a reference to the hills and

mountains that overshadow it.

An entry point of sorts, or perhaps a gateway, as some might say.

Constructed in the 1950s, like a repurposed limb, grafted onto the remnants of an old barn,

it is comprised largely of stone taken from what was left at the old 16th century manor

house.

The lichen-covered ruins of which can still be found hidden deeper amongst the trees, at

the very back of the garden.

It is May 1989, and all is quiet, save for the distant chatter of sky-locks.

While high above, light tufts of cloud in the bright spring sky draw shadows across

the room.

They drift lazily from front to back, east to west, slipping down onto the thick grass

before heading into the trees and disappearing somewhere beyond.

...