Under the rainbow

Looking at the forecast, I decide today will definitely have a Tiny Tuesday focus, very much home-based, but once again we’re surprised by patches of blue that appear at breakfast. I check again; we should be fine if we set off now, back by midday when we will, apparently be lashed by wind and rain. 

It’s very much a ‘big skies’ day. Blue skies and sunshine are, of course, glorious, but there is something transcendent about skies that are dramatically blue-black, heavy clouds roiling and undulating. The sun breaks through intermittently, making the skies even more melodramatic, and picking out the wind turbines on the horizon. 

I love the turbines, and find something fascinating about their presence. Gwynt y Mor - Wind of the Sea - consists of 160 turbines each 150 metres high, and is, apparently, the fifth largest in the world. And there are plans to extend it. If such a development was proposed off the coast of Anglesey or Llyn, I’d be right behind aesthetic objections, but here the coastline lacks that beauty. I don’t see how we can object to such ‘clean renewable energy’. 

As we walk towards Rhos, a nascent rainbow, pale and barely there, suddenly develops and arcs over the headland, its vibrant colours reaching over the little seaside town and touching down, not in a pot of gold, but in the midst of Gwynt y Mor - green energy, the gold of the future.