In winter,
there’s often a hard frost in the valley at Parkmill. Sheltered on all sides by high trees, and with little sun
reaching the ground, the fields can sometimes stay white all day. The stream running down to the beach at
Three Cliffs Bay trickles gently over the ford, but the footbridge is covered
with hoarfrost; I tread carefully.
Ahead the footpath leads to Green Cwm, but at the turning I walk
straight on.

The riders
pass, and quite returns; not wanting to trespass I return to Green Cwm. Sound echoes in this deep valley, but
everything is still; I can hear a pin drop. The well-preserved Neolithic burial chamber on the valley
floor is painted white with frost; it looks unfamiliar, but the sun will reach
here later in the morning.
There’s a
cottage at the fork in the path leading to the main road to the north. Unoccupied for many years, it’s been
renovated and seems to have all mod cons.
Living in such a remote spot must have drawbacks, but on mornings like
this must be wonderful. Gower can
often be at it’s best on cold winter days.
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