Watery reflections

This is Llys-y-fran reservoir  The name means court of crows but it was Canada geese in charge today, noisily congregating in the chilly afternoon sunshine. 
Although the most popular parts of the country park here are  closed for  redevelopment there was plenty of interest.
 A sheet of white water spills over the end of the dam in a mesmerising pattern that both always the same and always different. (And if you look at it upside down it resembles an aerial view of a snowy Siberian forest.)

Before being dammed  (damned?) this was a valley where people lived , probably just a few scattered farms and cottages - the village, perched higher up,  was spared.
An ivy-stifled ruin remains close to the reservoir's overflow. This was Dan-y-coed (Below the Wood),  birthplace of William Penfro Rowlands, composer of the popular hymn tune, Blaenwern.
Nearby, also within the white noise of the falling water,  is a little glade of young trees, many decorated with weather-beaten toys and trinkets. At the foot of each tree a small plaque bears a single name and date. It dawned upon us that this must be a memorial garden for stillborn babies, although there was no indication of that fact. Why would there be?  Only  the tragedy-stricken would need to know it existed. A sombre place but in spring there must be buds and birdsong here.

As we walked away I stopped to look at a withered stand of teasels, and found, as I expected, the unusual phenomenon of plant vivipary (live birth) which is a feature of this plant. It means that the seeds start to germinate while still in the seed head. Possibly an evolutionary blunder but surely a symbol of hope and renewal if ever there was one.

Extras show all the above.