With all its power and might, steps forth to the rescue and the liberation of the old.

It’s a story that is often repeated across the world. In a period of rapid industrialisation, those who see the expanding machine of modernity as in need of fuelling in the not-too-distant future rush to find the means of feeding the beast. They draw in hundreds from rural surroundings, teach them the skills to enact the means to their end, build them homes to last generations, and civilisation begins to grow in a land that was once only sparsely farmed. But when the black gold stops shining and the seams run dry, for this new civilisation there is no longer a need.

I often listen to a cover of “The Bells of Rhymney” by John Denver, a poem turned to song inspired by the suffering that led to the 1926 general strike. Now nearly 100 years after that event, the valley villages of South Wales still ask the same questions – “What will you give me?”, “Is there hope for the future?”, and “Who robbed the miners?”. While the robbers may be retired now, and more seemingly taken than given back to the descendants who first struck shovels into the soil, I think that there is indeed a hope for the future, here. There are the wind farms like the one you see here, a honey-producing business has just started up, and as elected governments struggle to fit services into their budgets, local residents unite to keep things going, and to reshape them for new times.

Before concluding, I’d like to give a shout-out to my good friend for editing out some pesky electrical wires that were spoiling this view. It seems that the clearing in the trees lining the path, from which I took this picture, only existed to allow passage for the wires. But I’m convinced that the solution to one’s problems can always be found in a good chat with good company, and my conviction has yet to be disproven.

Hope you enjoy!