I walked into the village, and up a small hill that has lovely views over the fields. As I turned to look at where I had come from I could even see the Snowdonia mountain range in the distance.
Descending the other side the sheep had congregated together and looked as if they were waking from a night’s sleep. I had no idea sheep did that, and it was a pleasure to see.
A small Hydrangea bush caught my attention as I walked further up the road. There were a few bungalows set back off the road, and I wondered if someone had planted it on the verge. It looked pretty.
I wandered towards the A55 roundabout where the bridge goes over the road and looked at the passing traffic. I had to wait a moment or two before a car came.
This is the road used by lorries carrying goods heading towards the ferry that will carry them over to Dublin. At this time of year, the holidaymakers are on their way to one of the many caravan and camping sites or holidaymakers were visiting beaches in the area.
It’s busy at this time of year, but not so much in the early mornings. I stood here awhile contemplating. I couldn’t help but think of Manchester, where I used to live. It had a constant flow of nose-to-tail traffic and never-ending roadworks that caused constant chaos, noise, and pollution. There were no quiet times.
As the birds sang, I felt a million miles away from there, instead of a two-hour drive. It was only on a recent overnight visit to Manchester I realised the city never does sleep. There is always a constant hum of people, cars, sirens, planes, and music. I have become so used to the peaceful nights only interrupted by the bark of a dog and in the mornings the sound of sheep or horses. This quietness doesn’t suit everybody, but it does me.