This totemic form recurs in my pictures - I'm powerfully drawn to this old dead larch tree; I feel sure it is speaking to me. I know not yet what it is saying, but here it seems to be beckoning to the dying light over the hill, or perhaps remonstrating across the winds.
It may sound ridiculous to anthropomorphise a bit of old stick in this way, but this comes from the fact that it, and its setting high on a windblown ridge, truly evoke something in me.
There have been times when I've climbed up here, and it's struck me that this dead tree is like a sorcerer, a necromancer, and I have caught it in the midst of its casting of spells across the celtic wilds, over which it holds sway.
Now, I am no expert in what is the incredibly rich Welsh mythology, but for those familiar with the tales, this is perhaps an ossified relic of the battles of old between the trees and Annwn (the Welsh underworld). It feels as though it could have stood here over the millennia, silently continuing its remonstrations with the ghoulish armies of the underworld.
Perhaps all that matters is getting off the beaten path, exploring a while, and finding in the wild something that makes you wonder just a little...
Brecon Beacons National Park