These are the stories of my ancestors near and far, from the Awen of an aspiring bard and awenydd.
Clearings enshrouded in thickening hazeTree-tops obscured by a radiant smogWarm bodies wander, their pathways a mazeHe wonders, how does one hunt in the fog? There is nothing he senses more in the dense woods than impending danger lingering in the silence. The trees appear as vague shadows, mirages beyond a misty veil. The first few…Keep reading
Imagining, today’s clear reflectionIn a mirror smeared by oily fingerprintsWater droplets create my dissectionBehind my eyes, another visage glints. Gleaming darkly, a cautious smile lingersHer incursion but a prelude of warEyelets boring through movement of fingers,Picking shameful fragments from the deepest drawer. ‘Is this you?’ She asks, behind my tired gaze,‘Emerging free from the sinking…Keep reading
Act 2 The threshold may have been crossed but it is still the same to Cunomaglos. He can still smell the heavy smoke, and see the thick fog. Sucellos, sensing the dewoi’s purpose, offers him advice: ‘Be prudent, young lord,’ a somber voice warns‘Alert no chieftain, nor watchman, nor scout.When blackthorn finally exposes its thorns,No…Keep reading
Act 1 First thing in the morning was the cold, and the inversion of air suppressing the smoke. Cunomaglos can taste it on his tongue, on the dew that dots his cheekbones. It frosts over in the frigid air, giving the young lord the air of a spectre so early in the morning. The grass…Keep reading
Sometimes a meditation I wasn’t finished with pulls me back while I’m learning another. Such was the case with the OBOD gwersi on the chase and animals, and now I realize why I intrinsically stalled on performing the opening ritual for air. The Wrath of Cerridwen Gwion:Alas! Tasting fate on my fingertipsThe ground cold beneath…Keep reading
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