In a green shade

I went further afield, taking advantage of the drought conditions, to traverse a misfit valley south of Fishguard. (The geographical term applies to a glacial valley trough that now carries a mere trickle of water but one that can create swamp conditions nonetheless).
The turnpiking of a higher road in the early 19th century shifted the axis of travel and communication a mile to the west of the hamlet here. Population followed leaving the old church stranded and the dwellings around it vanished. Now the churchyard drowns in plant growth and birdsong supplies the only chorus.
My onward route, albeit waymarked, was barred by a mooing horde of dairy heifers, so I retraced my steps back past the vast open maw of a disused slate quarry to the newer village where the chapel built in 1859 has been nicely restored, if only for private use. Round the corner the discovery of a cluster of remarkable field gateposts made my day. Across the lane from a substantial farm these pillars of dressed slate blocks  must once have made an eye-catching advertisement for the prosperity of the land-owner. They'd been painted red just to make the point.

The image shows the entrance to the deserted church. Pictures of the other things can be seen in a blipfolio here.

Meanwhile the mind, from pleasure less,
Withdraws into its happiness;
The mind, that ocean where each kind
Does straight its own resemblance find,
Yet it creates, transcending these,
Far other worlds, and other seas;
Annihilating all that’s made
To a green thought in a green shade.

From The Garden by Andrew Marvell