The hum of the turbines winds a fear within. Teeth on edge, I remember the men who moved a mountain, piece by piece.
The others who hollowed it out .
They're cooking megawatts under Matilda for a brew time rush we don't need any more.
This is winter in the brittle land jagged peaks showing through the mist. Down in Deiniolen the heating's on as Pen y Bigil scrapes the cloud. There's a car parked at Lon Garret as the light fails to re-charge the landscape.
They're pumping the water back up Marchlyn the spin cycle begins again. The mountain throbs with profligate energy, dam road, surge pool, reservoir, scars that will not soften with time.
The blocks from the hydro tunnel were thrown tumbling towards Pen Garret, down to California from Lernion destroying the old man's work.
Well, it was jobs, wasn't it? A lot of quarrymen were out of work the visitor centre and power plant needs folk. There's nothing else.
Over at Glynrhonwy, another scheme planned beside the white sheds and empty car parks of the industrial zone.
Off-peak dreams, disturbing sleep make the street lamps flicker in Llanberis. Wraiths rise from Twll y Mwg cloaking the huts at the visitor centre with uneasy perspiration.
All images are copyright Iain Robinson 2017 and must not be used without prior permission. The depiction of a mine or site does not indicate that access is possible- permission should be sought before entering any private land. Underground exploration should not be undertaken unless properly equipped and with at least one experienced member of the party.