When, spurred by guilt, I started to compile these photos the sun was blazing on Pembrokeshire. It was the warmest day since the dry grass smelling, dusty laned days of 1976 (I remember it well, those days when I was tanned to a single whole freckle and my brother’s hair was chalk white in the endless sun). I thought we were in for another such summer, maybe we still are, the forecast looks good. Today though the rain has returned, coming in bursts, and the relentless swish wash of it falling from the trees around the house makes them sound like waves rolling on pebble banks.
Still, it has, so far, been a beautiful year. Winter was mild, with infrequent frosts and the last storm of Spring rushed towards us driving black heart clouds before it and the gale whipped the white cap waves to froth in the brilliant sunshine that followed. Storm Doris was wild but beautifully lit.