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The morning began with the sun over the Ysgyryd. It was a clear May sky, the kind of sky one gets here once in a long, long time. He left the house after breakfast, wearing a jacket, just in case the weather turned. He didn’t think so, though. He had taken a couple of plastic bags for the shopping, rolled up in his pocket. He walked down the hill, past the new Georgian houses, and, on a whim, turned into Croesonen Road. ‘It’ll be quieter than the Hereford Road,’ he thought. ‘The scenery is better too.’ He went under the old railway bridge. A line used to run here years ago. There were few cars and fewer people about. The hedgerows were full of grass, leaf, and bird. He passed an old man walking his dogs. They were big, golden dogs almost shining in the sunlight.
‘Nice morning.’
He concurred. He went further down to where the Ross houses were set back from the road. He went on past the church, one of many in the market town, but this one alone. The others went on the opposite town, grouped together. He went to the café near the bus terminus for a cup of tea in the sun. Then, he walked up the main street, with four names, depending on where one is. The Town Hall clock showed 11 30. He looked into windows to see what would be on in the theatre over the next few weeks. There was nothing.
He went to the Post Office first, waiting in the queue, listening to the announcements in both languages. Next stop was the greengrocer. He picked his usual selection; some leeks, courgettes, tomatoes and so on. The butcher was next.
‘I’ll have two pounds of that lamb there, please.’
The scales went higher.
’I mean two pounds money.’
‘Oh, sorry, daydreaming.’
He put the wrapped meat into one of the plastic bags. The other counter sold cooked meat. He bought a pasty from the old lady there.
‘Thank you, bye.’
He walked back towards the Post Office and through the car park towards the wall. It might be unusual to have lunch in a car park, but the wall made this place different. You had to look over it to see why. Beneath you, some hundred metres away, was a farm, and after that, the Usk. In the far distance, the mountains were now a warm golden brown waiting for time. He ate the pasty, watching the time go by.
He turned to go. He made his way to the west, to go past the rugby ground.
‘How many places have a ground with a view like this?’ he thought.
In front was the Sugarloaf, the beginning of the National Park. He waited there, just looking. A couple of schoolgirls walked by, laughing. He continued back up the hill, past the old railway again. He suddenly noticed the darkness creeping up. Key in hand, he opened the front door, the plastic bags banging and twisting against his legs. One of his neighbours went by.
‘What’s the time now?’
‘Nearly eight.’
‘Eight? It can’t be,’ he thought.
‘It’s going to be cold tonight. They’re forecasting snow.’
‘Snow?’
He heard his own alarm. Why would they have snow now?
The neighbour laughed, and went on.
‘It’s November, don’t forget.’
He went in. The house was cold. It was very cold. He began to tremble.
‘November? No, it can’t be.’
Through the rear windows, he saw the first flecks of snow. There wasn’t one leaf on any tree.
(595 words)
