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Cwch Bach
The Little Boat
There is something magical about Borth Wen when the summer colour disappears and the sky turns silver-grey. The beach becomes quieter, the old fence leans into the wind and a little boat waits patiently above the waterline. Perhaps it has spent a lifetime doing just that. Watching tides come and go, storms roll across the bay and generations wander barefoot along the same stretch of sand. On days like this, Rhoscolyn feels almost suspended in time. The sea whispers against the shore, the grasses move in the breeze, and for a moment the little boat seems to be waiting for someone.
