Arriving at Cwm Hesgin is like arriving at the last house, on the edge of the world. Alone in a valley full of Clyde's paintings.

To the right looking at the little patch of rowen growing beside the stream. Heather and bilberries on the slopes above.

Islands of grass.

Across the expanse of rough grazing and plentiful goose grass still harbouring the bluebell and anemone, memories of distant forest.

The track to the wide world, to distant travels, adventure and tragedy. The direction of visitors from the world's corners.

The townland, over in the distance, in the Dee valley and Bala.