The sun creeps over the hill and sends its rays under the clouds to emblazon the trees on the far side of the valley.
In the last few days the sky has been clear and the air crisp and clear.
We’ve walked through the woods of oak and beech, silent now except for the occasional call of a golfer over the crest of the hill and the hollow single knock of iron on ball.
The sheep are back on our land, difficult to count after dawn, camouflaged against the heavy frost.
For sheep farmers in Wales this is the New Year — the start of the farming year when the tup goes out with the ewes and the whole process starts again — I don’t know this one and certainly won’t be turning my back on him, even without his horns!