Before I knew it I was here.
Plucked from the chaos, whirling city.
Into the vast bosom of the Welsh country.
As the traffic slowly exits my head
The space dilutes the pain.
Rooting myself again.
Black and white wagtail on the white chimney.
Grey slate roof.
The house in a dingle on the side of a hill.
The eternal bleating of mother ewe to lamb.
The rolling horizon, the slow, thick, still.
Buzzing in springtime, primrose and daffodil.
Green, green grass and time to kill.
Sitting in a gnarled, old tree under this morning’s hue
and the sky that outweighs the land.
Full of promise.