‘…Much of this I learnt when I was young, in the course of many journeys that led into the liminal space. My dog and I on top of Foel Penoleu, heading for Barmouth along the Rhinogydd ridge in that hot summer of 1976. The rough country alien writers so revile stretched for miles ahead of us. Clip, Craig Ddrwg, Bwlch Gwilym, Twr Glas – we have named them, and come to know. At Llyn Morwynion I slept, swam in the morning sun that streamed across Migneint, across Rhobell and Arenig. Kettle boiling on the stove; mingled scents of
