It’s not an optical illusion, it’s the harvest festival.

We went to the National Museum of Welsh Life with Linus, my sister and her boyfriend. 
It’s not a museumey museum, it’s a collection of houses from all eras from all over Wales taken down stone by stone and recreated over a huge site with period gardens, furniture and equipment. You get to see how people really lived. My favourites were always the three legged stools by the fires and the spinning wheels. 

We went around, quizzing about things.

“Who knows what hazel is used for? Not you Linus, I know you know the answer.” 

“Yes! Hedging and a traditional wand wood. 10 points.” 

“Ok, what trees are these? Come on, you must know they are in Grandma’s garden.” 

“Yes, beech, and can we eat young beech leaves?” 

“That’s right, we can, but they aren’t very tasty. And these aren’t young, so don’t try, I said not to try!”

I know, don’t you wish you were there with us? Who doesn’t want eclectic quizzing by a historically exactly, overly-read woman?

We went on Gwl Awst, the August Feast. Hence my fetching hat – it was hot and sunny. I said my thanksgiving prayers in the farmhouse gardens with the apple trees, inquisitive chickens and juicy raspberries. 

But we had to come back to the little church which was decorated for the harvest home. 

The wonder of the reflections.

The sinking August sunshine, the coppery trees and the church flowers bright through the old glass. 

To see from waist height. 

Not rushing past but getting really close to something, and finding the beauty in it. Though the day was hot and my limbs were aching, though we were late and hurting. 

To stop, right next to joy and sit, stilling inside until it unfolded itself to me in this picture. Taking shots again and again, fascination with the mirror magic. 

What an opportunity each day is.