This is the third midsummer since the pandemic started and I discovered the field and the wood and the common that had eluded me all my life till then.
The light in the evenings is often extraordinary. And for once, the skies on Midsummer's Eve were clear enough of cloud for us to see exactly how far north the sun sets in its journey to and fro along the Welsh hills to the west of us.
Hogweed, elderflower, hogweed and sorrel, dog roses, a constellation of white clover, pignut, sorrel, hogweed and bird's-foot trefoil, feverfew, grasses, bramble, cuckoo spit on creeping thistle, vetch, goatsbeard
... and back by the golf course, the top of Rooky Wood has been taken out completely to make way for the new pitch and putt.
I emailed the council about the apparent loss of the lovely old whitethorn on the fairway, but no one got back to me.
Things that didn't move as quickly include the following: