Long before the golden blue-grey
Tints hint breaking skies, and Sun, once more.
Howling Easterlies rake the facing slopes.
Some time before the landing Creyr, wings folded in,
Took patient station on the spawn choked bank.
Ignoring jellied dessert, for much preferred
A while before the raucous rooks gather,
Tree topping sentries over Cae Castell’s hump.
Chancing late dusk sorties as night falls,
Days before the upturned, dying, fat-budded Ash,
Sprouts chattering, wintry, bleak-black foliage,
Then scattering, charging, the leaves flee West,
Beyond the Valley of Death and over
Centuries old battles hidden,
Beneath the litter of real leaves.
And Mud. And Muck. And Rush.
Which sense the air, or through the wet, all covering film,
And though still taut with spawn,
Delay their annual trek. In tune,
A day before noon’s sun kissed Crocus tepals
Quickly grow. Stretch open, for sable tickled fancies.
While rapier offspring leaves power chunky parsnip wedges
Drag that vital, precious, tiny corm,
Beyond the reach of scrabbling
Murine claws and teeth.
But not so deep,
Below the littered soil,
They touch the very core,
Beneath Cwmllynfell’s epicentric fame,
Which this week rocked the land,
Shook snowdrops’ dainty heads,
Knocked shields from walls,
And tumbled eggs,
Just before all this. Somewhere,
Beyond the breaking gold cusped brow,
Sun flooded Cwm, beyond the ford
Time – frozen, slowed.
And hunched, I stood and saw
A single drop squeezed. Perfectly,
Yet preciously, through the central,
No hormonal flush to trigger this release.
A simple physic.
Expanding, cooling water
Works the trick, with my volcano.
I linger, chilled, enthralled by this.
Today, the squeezed sun lights a white and freezing cwm,
Clear thrush triplets, hanging breath,
Limp parabolic hellebores,
Just William’s frost etched words,
Clay pressed. Hard, flat, and crystal linked