The world speeds past the rattling window,
Houses with white window frames turned orange and grotty back gardens,
Towering church spires, steel works.
Towns with hills-hills as red as wine and as green as emerald watching over them,
A castle set against a hill,
Then trees, speeding past-blurring into never ending green,
Lush fields of every colour-vivid colours-green, yellow or heather pink, fields with horses, cows, sheep.
Shaded black rivers with trees sloping into them,
Farmhouses; used or disused,
A tree standing alone in a field,
A single house sat upon a hill with a horse grazing in it’s gaze,
Countryside stretches for miles with the occasional town passing by,
Then modern brick houses and a huge shining white stadium-blue skies, “It’s a beautiful day in Cardiff” someone says; the journey is over.