Carn ingli- Pembrokeshire.

I’ve always wanted to come to Pembrokeshire, so the second I could, I booked it for my birthday.

Today we climbed Carn Ingli — the “Mountain of Angels,” as it is known in Wales. It carries a sacred history, associated with Saint Brynach, who is said to have lived, prayed and meditated here centuries ago. For a long time I’ve felt quietly called to this place, though I could never explain why. Sometimes certain lands summon you long before you understand the reason.

And so, here I am.

Almost half dead from heat exhaustion after taking three and a half hours to complete what is supposedly a one-and-a-half-hour trail. To be fair, we are in the middle of a heatwave, and I am not quite as young as I used to be.

Along the path I found a large walking stick — the perfect staff for the climb. Except it already had an owner.

Curled up inside the hollow opening of the branch was a tiny snail, tucked safely into what must have seemed like a very comfortable home. Since I was disturbing his residence, I felt obliged to carry him along with me.

As we climbed, I became mindful of every step. I tried not to knock the stick against the rocks too hard. Every now and then I would see two tiny tentacles emerge from the shell and I would immediately apologise for the disturbance, promising him I would tread more gently.

Perhaps that little snail was sent as a reminder.

A reminder to walk lightly upon the earth. To remember that everything lives. That everything has a place here. That every creature, no matter how small, carries the same divine right to exist that we do.

Together we made it all the way to the summit and all the way back down again.

The walking stick felt as though it had been made especially for me. I thanked God the entire way up because, truthfully, I don’t think I would have managed the climb without it. It is not considered a difficult hike by most standards — unless, of course, you happen to be much older and attempting it during a heatwave.

At one point I was so exhausted that my left leg seemed entirely unaware of what my right leg was doing. I simply kept asking God for shade and for a cool breeze. Every single time I needed it, it came. Without hesitation. A cloud passing overhead. A sudden gust of wind. Relief arriving exactly when it was asked for.

At the summit I prayed.

I placed my head upon the ancient rocks. There is a belief that prayers offered outdoors, especially upon the stones of the earth, rise differently. I cannot explain it, but I have experienced it before. Some places seem to carry prayers more readily than others.

When we finally descended the mountain, tired, sunburnt and grateful, I returned the walking stick to exactly where I had found it three hours earlier.

And, most importantly, the tiny snail was returned safely to his home.

He had carried me up the mountain as much as I had carried him.