On the 5th November, (coincidently a few days after the Celtic festival of Samhain) I climbed to the summit of Moel Arthur, North Wales.
Moel Arthur is the site of an Iron Age hillfort, but more importantly it and the hills around are where I grew up, and as much as anywhere are my �home�.
I had not been back there for almost a decade.
The weather was cold and windy, but the air was noticeably cleaner than in Manchester. Despite the clouds from Moel Arthur I had a view of the other hills in the Clwydian range, Moel Famau and Moel Y Parc. I could down across Dyffryn Clwyd to the moors of the Mynydd Hiraethog and when the clouds broke to Snowdonia beyond that.
The hilltop itself was almost bare of stones, the few loose stones that the wind had allowed to rest were piled in a traditional cairn by walkers at the summit. However I managed to find a suitable one hidden in ditch of the old hill fort and got to work.
The rhythmic motion, the sensations and sound of the stones� friction and the peace on the hilltop soon assumed a meditational quality. I became acutely aware of the rise of fall of the lactic acid building up in my arm and the grazes being picked up on my knuckles. However much of body soon became numb with cold, only the muscles used in rubbing the stones together retained any feeling.
I also became increasingly aware of subtle changes in light and wind direction, seeing different mountains revealed as and when the clouds shifted to short bursts of sun through.
This attunement became so complete that I was fully aware of the limits of my body�s tolerance to the exposure it was receiving, and also of the imminent and rapid setting of the sun, meaning that I was able to leave the hilltop just before both my arm and the light gave way.
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