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 and charging, the leaves flee Nor’ West,
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 the afternoon’s sun kissed Crocus
Tepals quickly grow. Wide. Open. For sable tickled fancies.
While rapier leaved offspring thrust chunky parsnip
To drag that vital, precious, tiny corm,
Beyond the reach of scrabbling
Murine claws and teeth.
They touch the very core, beneath Cwmllynfell’s rare epicentric fame
Which this week rocked the land, shook snowdrops’ dainty heads,
Knocked shields from walls,
Just before all this. Somewhere,
Beyond the breaking cusped brow,
Sun flooding the Cwm beyond the ford
Time – frozen, slowed.
Life stretched. And hunched, I stood and saw
A single drop squeezed. Perfectly,
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 and hanging breath,
Limp parabolic hellebores and arching ‘drops,
Just William’s frost etched words,
Clay pressed. Hard, flat, crystal linked
Innocence. Once more,