They are renovating the building where his Dad used to work. They’ve been doing it for a year or so now. Yesterday I noticed that the scaffolding had been taken down. There was a long pick-up truck parked outside with some of the scaffolding poles piled up inside. It’s engine was running. There was no one inside. It was 3.00 am. Then further down the Prom there was a car, its windows steamed up and engine running too. This morning, it was a van, down by the harbour. And walking past the Old College, the Old Col as he calls it, I heard the generator outside. It’s a kind of chugging hum. A thrumming, a throbbing. The fishing boat in the harbour, lit up and ready to sail, had a different kind of engine noise. I love it. It makes me feel safe. I tried to understand why as I walked past it. It’s a low hum, slightly irregular, like a relaxed heartbeat. It’s a waiting sound, a patient, no-hurry, kind of rumble. Lovely. Just lovely. A truck waited for the catch, but it’s generator was off. I also love the sound of my feet on the wooden slats of the Perygyl. We call it that, it’s really a jetty. Perygyl means danger in Welsh. There is a sign at the start of it warning of slipping. When wet it is slippy, the bruise on my hip testified to that. I am cautious now. I don’t walk it when it rains. The sound is also warm, homely. The wood gives a little under my feet. Soft, yielding. A gentle echo of a noise, the water lapping underneath. No wind this morning. No pushing into a force.

I need to let go of it now. I’ve had enough. I am at a loss what to do. She is rigid, immovable. So be it. I will wait till wisdom or a way forward comes. Meanwhile I shall just click delete.

We are off to Aberdovey for the morning. A cup of tea, a crossword and a sit and stare. It’s been too much.

Yes. There is power in non-action. As there is in forgiveness. And I can forgive her. And I will, in time.

By Ellen Bell

Artist and writer currently living in Aberystwyth.