Nant Bochlwyd and Tryfan, Gwynedd (National Trust): photo © Mick Sharp

The Romans believed that every place possessed a divine spirit, a supernatural being which it was prudent to honour. In the hostile land of Britain, with its ancient and mysterious gods, this was especially true. Before setting up camp, Roman soldiers would offer prayers to the unknown ‘genius loci’ - the spirit of the place. Much as individual do, certain places have their own distinctive genius - a special inbuilt disposition and power - and this we try to be sensitive to in our photography. On top of the underlying ‘feel’ or atmosphere of a place, and a person’s reaction to it, are the fleeting moods caused by accidents of weather and the seasons. These elements may be seen or sensed and put together within a frame. A photographer may also add something of themselves to create an image full of meaning for others: a unique moment, an instance of time which is ‘true’ but never existed.

Mwyro Valley, Strata Florida, Ceredigion: photo © Jean Williamson

November storms create a stream where a track should be, but a sudden patch of late afternoon sunshine blazes amongst the hazel bushes and glowing bracken. This liquid corridor of light was once a drovers’ road and the ‘winter branch’ of the Monks’ Trod, a medieval route between the Cistercian houses of Strata Florida and Abbey Cwmhir, twenty-four miles apart: one long day’s journey for a tough and nimble twelfth-century Welsh horse.

Llyn Padarn, Llanberis, Gwynedd: photo © Jean Williamson

An autumn sun rises above the hills on the opposite side of the Llanberis Pass to Snowdon. Lingering briefly in the branches of a birch tree, its light gradually spreads out across the lake named after a local saint who had his cell above the far, southern shore. At times like these, it is not too difficult to feel an affinity with the pagan Celts who threw votive offerings into such magical stretches of water.

River Witham, Tattershall Bridge, Lincolnshire: photo © Mick Sharp

A remarkable number of fine, Iron Age metal objects have come from the river between Tattershall and Lincoln, 18 miles to the north-west. Offerings included iron swords and daggers, bronze swords, the famous Witham parade shield and the bronze boar’s head terminal of a Celtic war trumpet or ‘carnyx’. The Gaulish raven goddess, who was the consort of the god Sucellos - good, or mighty, striker - was called Nantosuelta, a name meaning ‘winding river’.

Moel Arthur and Penycloddiau, Clwydian Range, Flintshire: photo © Jean Williamson

Those walking the Offa’s Dyke long distance path along the spine of the Clwydian Range, are treated to one magnificent hillfort after another. Intoxicated by the taste of ripe bilberries, the sight and scent of heather in full bloom, and the unexpected gift of golden light, a person may experience something akin to the ‘emotion of the soul beyond all definition’ which overwhelmed Richard Jefferies in 1866 at Liddington Castle hillfort (Wiltshire), as described in his book ‘The Story of My Heart’.

River Arddu, Llanberis, Gwynedd: photo © Jean Williamson

The waters of the Arddu, crashing from boulder to boulder, manage to produce a scene both energising and serene. The vigorous movement of water causes air molecules to release charged atoms or ions into the atmosphere. These negatively charged hydrogen ‘anions’ from the spray clear the air of polluting particles and bacteria, and are believed to have other health and well-being benefits. Negative ions improve circulation and the delivery of oxygen to the brain. They also help to balance levels of the ‘mood’ chemical serotonin which can promote better sleep and create a more relaxed and positive outlook. The rhythmic sounds of moving water may also alter wave patterns in the brain to encourage a deeply relaxed state. Taking the fresh, living air circulating on the coast and hills, beside the sea and streams, really can be a tonic.

Devil’s Cauldron, Lydford Gorge, Devon (National Trust): photo © Jean Williamson

Rocks and running water make up this image too, but its atmosphere is altogether different from the previous one. In the long, deep, wooded ravine gouged out by the River Lydd, the water flows through a succession of potholes, whirlpools and constrictions. Here, beside the ‘spectacular amphitheatre’ known as the Devil’s Cauldron, the sense of something primeval and nightmarish is very strong. A feeling of something not too pleasant welling up from the underworld of stone or the collective unconscious. A tingling, hair-raising sensation of being watched by an energy or presence too old to have a name - or perhaps just by the dipper chicks being fed by their parents in a nest on a ledge high above the frustrated water.

King’s Wood, St Austell, Cornwall (Woodland Trust): photo © Jean Williamson

In our first year at art college we were set a project to photograph ‘a landscape with presence’. One of our fellow students produced a set of pictures with gift-wrapped boxes arranged in countryside locations. This deeply sunken lane has a presence which tempts us to follow it for good or ill: enchanted banks emit an eerie glow while light from the sky thickens in the trees.

Haytor Rocks, Dartmoor, Devon: photo © Jean Williamson

Anthropomorphic forms on the western dome of Haytor Rocks give the sense that they are the focal point around which barely-glimpsed things swirl and happen. Standing in the constricted space, looking out to wide views beyond, the granite shapes are undeniably with you, pressing in. Some believe that stones are alive, but are on such a long and slow time scale compared to ours, that we cannot recognize their animation.

Bardsey Island, Gwynedd (Bardsey Island Trust): photo © Jean Williamson

Strange beings congregate on the coastal pastures beyond the abbey ruins at the north end of the island. Apparently rooted to the spot, they seem purposeful and aware. Gorse was used as a quick, hot fuel for ranges and bread ovens, and as a fodder crop for the island’s ponies. A ‘chatting’ machine was employed to break down the sharp needles to make them more edible, but these bushes have been shaped in situ, sculpted by the wind and the nibbling sheep and ponies. The sheep may also be seen eating selected seaweed as they do on some of the Scottish isles.

Llansteffan, Carmarthenshire: photo © Mick Sharp

To appropriate and misuse the title of a 14th-century mystical Christian text, this is ‘The Cloud of Unknowing’. It’s anonymous English author meditates on the impossibility of knowing God through the power of human intellect and reason, insisting that the veiling cloud may only be pierced by a ‘sharp dart of love’. This may be a form of Cumulonimbus, but I have as much trouble accurately identifying clouds as I do mushrooms, so don’t quote me. It certainly made its charged presence felt and gave the impression that there was an ‘unstable temperature profile’ in the troposphere. According to ‘The Cloudspotter’s Guide’ by Gavin Pretor-Pinney, large, tropical versions of these ‘towering thunderclouds’ can contain energy ‘equivalent of ten Hiroshima-sized bombs’.

Camas Rubha a’ Mhurain, Arisaig, Highland: photo © Jean Williamson

In the summer months, on the western coasts of the Highlands and Islands of Scotland, the sun is generous with his time to compensate for his winter parsimony. He lingers long and sets most beautifully over an infinite number of islands and other idyllic backdrops: in this case, at 10-15 on a June evening, over the Sound of Sleat and the southern tip of Skye. In Egypt, as well as the sun-god Ra, Atum became personified as the setting sun and the sun before its rising. The Sumerians worshipped the sun as Utu who became the Assyro-Babylonian Shamash. Hvare-Khshaeta was the ‘Radiant Sun’ of the Persians, Surya his Hindu counterpart. To the Aztecs he was Inti, to the Incas Tonatiuh. The Romans worshipped ‘Sol Invictus’ the Unconquered Sun, the Greeks knew him as Helios or Phoebus the ‘bright one’. In ancient Japan the sun was a goddess named Amaterasu. Whatever our beliefs, we can acknowledge that the existence of our sun is a key factor making the earth habitable, and in that sense at least, to quote Yes from their album ‘Relayer’, the sun is ‘our reason to be here’.