Eight years ago this very evening we found ourselves at Mwnt church.
Just Helen and I and a collection of philosophical sheep.
All was still, then up came the Moon.
The lunar rays were tinged orange, it shone a marvellous hint of warm fireside light across the white walls of little Mwnt church.
The sheep commented amongst themselves as to how pretty the night was, and how exceptionally beautiful was the Moonrise.
Over to the East, Mars was peeping out of nearby bushes.
It was a wonderful night for poets and dreamers.
Here's a small verse, and observation I made at the time, from a recently refound journal:
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