I keep going back to these old miners cottages in Snowdonia. I am not sure why, there is very little left standing now, but I think it’s the thrill of getting there and getting set up just before the sunrise briefly kisses the old ruins of the miners cottages with golden light. I wonder every time how many sunrises these cottages have seen. When did they last see men sleeping under their roofs? Which fierce winter was it that finally wrenched the roofs off? How long until there is nothing left here but a pile of rock.