I tell myself I hate winter, I dread it, that I'd be better off hibernating through the dark months. And there's truth in this, though actually high summer can be challenging too - in fact, sometimes the lack of night makes me feel like I'm going a bit mad. So the equinoxes are probably my best, calmest times of the year. (Maybe they bring a little balance to my often out-of-kilter Libran scales.)
If asked, I would say that I love the vernal equinox best, the cusp of the light half of the year, with all the promise of another spring to come. But inside I'm autumnal, always have been. If it's not actually leaf-fall, then I'm waiting for it.
Here's an equinoctial photo I took of a bridge over a disused canal and the sun - or rather the reflection of the sun and the reflection of the reflection of the sun. Which turns out somehow to be the moon. I think it's has something to do with being in that moment of balance. Embracing the dark because without it, there's no light.
In what is becoming the season of defunct canals, Son the Younger and I decided to continue our dog walk along the Crumlin Arm of the Monmouthshire Canal, from where we left off last time, just above Fourteen Locks (the Cefn Flight).
With us, Lucy Pupper and Grumpy Uncle Ted.
Fourteen Locks/the Cefn Flight, which was completed in 1799, raises the water level 160 feet in 800 yards, and this makes it one of the steepest rises in the country.
Some restoration of the top five locks has been carried out.
We walked down the hill until we reached the underpass beneath the M4.
It got a lot noisier from this point onwards, but it was still interesting.
'YOU WHAT?! I'M SORRY, I CAN'T HEAR YOU! '
As we'd already covered over four miles, we stopped once we reached the outskirts of Newport and headed back up the locks.
The dogs enjoyed watching the ducks, who were ostensibly readying themselves for the forthcoming mating season.
No kingfishers to be seen this time, but as we were nearing the car, the late afternoon sun came out and turned everything a soft gold and green which reminded us that despite the forecasted cold snap, spring is on its way.
My children are half-Welsh, half-English. When they were young, we explored their West Country heritage extensively. Having a caravan in Devon helped. But apart from excursions to Big Pit and St Fagans, and a late-in-the-day weekend in Rhossili for a friend's 50th birthday, trips to Wales were limited to visiting my now late then in-laws.
To rectify this, Son the Younger and I have decided to combine walking our dogs with occasional explorations of his other, less familiar origins. This last weekend we decided to investigate some industrial history in Gwent by walking the northernmost end of the Crumlin Arm of the Monmouthshire canal, which was completed in 1799 ... about a seven mile round trip.
We parked a little above Fourteen Locks, also known as the Cefn Flight, and followed the canal as it curved around the foot of Twmbarlwm and Medart, overlooking the towns of Risca, Crosskeys and Pontywaun.
The Crumlin Arm isn't navigable on this section, at least not by narrowboats or large craft. You could probably travel along it in a canoe or coracle, though.
Looking up the Ebbw valley towards Cwmcarn
I've got used to the bustle of the Kennet and Avon, so it felt strange to walk by such a deserted stretch of canal. It was beautiful, but considerably less interesting.
What do you mean, deserted? There's us ...
... oh and a fairly consistent stream of cyclists, hawking like great dragonflies, their eyes a-dazzle, up and down the towpath. Not to mention other walkers.
Oh and that pesky pupper tagging along with my boy, grumbled Ted.
But I missed the narrowboats with their drifting smoke, the gangplanks, stacked logs and bikes on their roofs, the art being created and sold, the smiles and hugs, the camp coffee made with condensed milk ... OK, I'm getting a bit specific now.
Crosskeys
Medart
Then we were in Pontywaun. Here the present canal ends, four miles short of Crumlin, its original terminus and the village that gave it its name.
The walk back seemed a lot quicker than the outbound leg, and the views were less spectacular, partly because the sun was getting very low on the horizon.
Here, at last, there was a boat to be seen.
Jackdaws scuttered overhead.
Stalactites
Almost back where we started there was a whirr of flame up the far side of the canal. A kingfisher! We watched as it perched for a while on a branch against a massive tree trunk, its feathers lit by the last of the sun.
I remembered the last - and first - time I saw one, three years ago - again in early January, on the Kennet and Avon canal. I took it as a good omen for the coming year ... and broke my leg three weeks later.
I didn't ascribe portent to this one. I just watched it and marvelled at how its folded wings made it look - fittingly - as if it were carrying its own small coracle on its back.
