These weeks
by Myrddin ap Dafydd
The past few weeks have taught us to look and to be satisfied with the same daily view. We can also share it with others. We’re lucky that the view from our home here in Llwyndyrys are the Eifl and Carnguwch mountains – with Nant Gwrtheyrn at the other side of the gap. Even though she’s the same every day, we enjoy seeing something new every day. We walk the same daily routes, but we find a newness every time.
It’s a period where we’re not taking much notice of watches, calendars or diaries. At the same time, it’s not that time doesn’t matter. We’re appreciating it in a different way. The days don’t drag; each hour is full.
One weekly routine we’ve kept to is walking, every Saturday morning, the path along Rhyd-hir stream which marks the boundary between the parishes of Carnguwch and Pistyll. This is the path that leads us to Siop Pen-y-groes, Llithfaen. The shop is a community, co-operative enterprise, which has never been more valuable. Or more communal. We pay for our weekly papers, fill the backpack with fruit, vegetable and four for the best croissants you can get this side of Calais. Then we sit on the bench at the crossroads to eat an apple, chatting away (at a brush length distance) with whoever passes by.
After six weeks, we remember each Saturday by the experience, not the date. The first Saturday was the blackthorn flowers; this week it was the hawthorn flowers. We also had the heron Saturday; swallow Saturday; bluebell Saturday and Jessie’s birthday Saturday.
We can never know anything, anyone or anywhere so well that there is no new, daily experience for us. It’s true about an area; true about language. This is what looking at yr Eifl and Carnguwch tells us each morning during these weeks.
