Stormwashed and Scarlet a Morning in Pontypool Park

Morning light after a storm always feels a bit like nature hitting the “refresh” button, and Pontypool Park certainly had that freshly-washed glow today. Storm Claudia had barged through Gwent overnight, leaving the county dripping, glistening, and—if you happened to live in Monmouth or Abergavenny—more than a little waterlogged. Thankfully, the park itself had escaped the worst of the flooding, though it had collected plenty of puddles and a few temporary large pools worthy of honorary map labels.

I set out across the lawns while the air still held that cool, rain-clean scent you only get after a deluge. The paths were slick with leaf fall—thick, crunchy mosaics of Sycamore, Beech and Maple leaves in deep reds, burnt oranges, and mellow yellows. They looked as if someone had tipped over an artist’s palette and let gravity decide the composition. Every step kicked up the faintest spice of autumn decay, that gentle reminder that the trees are folding back into themselves for winter.

Down below the Cherry Tree avenue of the park, a broad pool of stormwater had formed. Not quite a lake, but certainly ambitious. It was perfectly still, a natural mirror laid out on the grass. These are the little gifts storms leave behind—the quiet ones, the ones photographers adore. I crouched low and framed a reflection of the copper-red Sycamores leaning over the water. Their branches stretched like brushstrokes across the surface, the colours richer for having been soaked through. A few leaves floated lazily on top, drifting through their own reflections as if unsure which side of reality they belonged to.

Despite the chaos Claudia had caused across the wider valley, the park had a strange calm about it. The heavy rain had mashed down the last of summer’s greenery, leaving the landscape beautifully stripped back. You could see the shapes of individual trees more clearly: the sloping shoulders of old Horse and Sweet Chestnuts, and the elegance of the Oaks and Beech Trees. Pontypool Park always does autumn well, but today the colours felt amplified—storm-saturated and theatrically lit by the soft morning sun sneaking out from behind the clouds.

I wandered on, weaving through carpets of leaves. The Sycamores in particular were on fine form, their leaves glowing like embers scattered across the earth. There’s something elemental about that colour—fiery, fleeting, irresistible to the lens. Every fallen leaf is, in its own way, a farewell note from a tree that has worked all year.

Storms can leave destruction, but they also carve out moments of quiet beauty. Today’s walk felt like one of those moments. Pontypool Park breathed deeply after the chaos, and I walked among its colours and reflections feeling just a little lighter myself. The reds will fade soon enough, but the memory of this storm-washed, autumn-drenched morning will stay bright a while longer