All the Christmases roll down toward the two-tongued sea, like a cold and headlong moon bundling down the sky that was our street; and they stop at the rim of the ice-edged, fish-freezing waves, and I plunge my hands in the snow and bring out whatever I can find.
In goes my hand into that wool-white bell-tongued ball of holidays resting at the rim of the carol-singing sea. . .
-- Dylan Thomas, A Child's Christmas in Wales
When I read this passage to John about the abundance of snow in an idyllic childhood paradise, he asked "Where in Wales did Dylan Thomas grow up? It snows here, like, one day a year."
Hiraeth, John, hiraeth. ;)
It did, however, shed perpetual rain upon us like the end times on both Christmas and Boxing Day. The two days there are no public transport. We went nearly feral with stir-craziness. Thank goodness things cleared up enough on Sunday to pack up quick as could be and shuttle off to Bangor. I took Afon out for an extended walk over the straits to Anglesey and Church Island.
It didn't seem longer or farther than our custom of walking into Colwyn Bay from Old Colwyn, but it's taken me two days to recover. My muscles are sore and my joints are aching and I've slept and slept almost incessantly since then.
These are all the photos I've developed for now.
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