my Ynys Môn

stones and mine

I saw you once for a beautiful evening at Bull Bay. Your soft, low shadow rested long across the harbour past half-awake oystercatchers and gulls, out to where porpoises and terns fished for their suppers.

It felt like your shadow could reach forever across the water. And we made plans to walk everyday along your coast path.

But the next afternoon, I had a lunch of peanuts and Guinness on an awkward bench in an Amlwch pub. I was misshapen, though convinced that I was well, as I strode up your rough, natural path. It tore at my ill-fitting body.

Every step that followed for six days, and sweaty nights craving painkillers, was hard to bear. I needed your help to fasten my shoes and could not lift my eyes from the ground before me nor raise my senses from the need to feel less.

So plans had to change. Your steady beauty drove me to special places, open headlands bright with heather and resonant choughs. And then I stood in the queue at Llanfaelog’s shop and asked for the key to the Barclodiad Y Gawres burial chamber.

“You what my dear, Barclodiad Y Gawres?” smiled the lady, correcting my pronunciation, “Of course my dear. It’s a ten pounds deposit or whatever you’ve got on you. Just to make sure you return the key!”

And so with a key and a torch we glimpsed cold history through mysterious art.

I knew there was so much beauty yet unseen alive and above your stones. So now we meet again and you welcome me back with a lush green field, a good place for a bed and easy sleep. Thank you. And now I can lace-up my boots to walk your beautiful paths.

 

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