Last week, at dusk, on the Llangynidr Moors, the view of Llangorse Lake seemed like a semblance of a dream. Its ancient sunset sauntered over the horizon and into eternity.
It’s beauty reminiscent of a memory from before.
The mystery of it all, is that it was made so beautiful: it didn’t have to be so symmetrical, and so pleasing to look at.
Sometimes, it’s easier to remember the purest of all loves. We are alive right now, and this feeling is joy.
All is thank you.
You remember not why, or how, but when.
When the songbirds bathe before sundown, and the river otters prepare their food. Foxes and owls, respond to the light of the salmon-coloured sunset, and they too are nostalgic for their dreams.
When at other times, on the Llangynidr Moors, looking over at LLangorse Lake, the view is obliterated by clouds so low down, that they feel like fog. When even the Anfanc, from the deep waters of the lake, is too tired to move. When the Anfanc growls and scowls it does so with vanity and pointlessness and greed! Its ugliness terrorises the twilight, until it sinks to the bottom of the lake again.
When it’s all rain and no view at all, the density and magnitude of the time makes us afraid and sad.
Sometimes, looking at Llangorse Lake from the Llangynidr Moors, we see where the magic lives and how the mystery is yet part of the medicine. The softness whispers to us that the earth is here to hold us. A fox makes a cradle from the ground, and as he turns to the earth to rest, he is a guardian of the soil. Waiting for him to wake again, and letting the world be marvellously unfixable, as it drifts between day and night, dusk and sunset.
Shorter than me 