About the Welsh Moon...

So it's back from Wales and in the blinking of an eye all the festivities are forgotten as the real world comes crashing in. Fortunately for me my real world is pretty simple, even simpler at the minute as I wait for my new shop to open. Even so, my first night home last night and I found myself awake at four and then had the devil of a job to get back to sleep again.

Maybe it was knowing that now I'm home my regular routine will kick in - up at sevenish and not the lazy start to the day I (so quickly) got used to in Wales. I have glass to paint, words to write, gardens to tidy, carpets to clean, blogs to read and write, Facebook to trawl, holidays to plan, emails to answer. My goodness I am such a busy bee in my own relaxed way.

Yes, maybe it was that, or maybe it was that I didn't have the Welsh moon with me to ponder on.

The Welsh moon is different to the moon back home you see. He sits above the mountain and glows, his rays entering my bedroom window at the back of the cottage where I refuse curtains. Sometimes one of his moonbeams will creep into the corner of the room, the corner where the door is, and play (ice white) upon the polished dark pine surface, glinting on the dull brass doorknob.

That cold Welsh winter moon; he makes me feel so safe and warm and sleepy, I watch him sing from beneath my layers of duvets, at least ten inches thick and soft. Luna watches him too as she lies upon the covers and sometimes jumps down to the door to catch the white moonlight - making her crackle almost blue in the darkness.

The Welsh moon, he's always with me. All I have to do is think of him and he's there.

I still couldn't sleep though.