Spell seeking…

Getting into the place isn’t easy these days. There used to be a time when getting in was easy and getting out was the problem, my head full with all manner of glory and nonsense. But these days it’s getting into that elusive state that seems so hard. Fettered by the mundane that’s me most of the time. Of course time in Wales helps, although it’s still too easy to just do the things I always do and not push at the door.

So, I take myself off on a jaunt, a pilgrimage if you like. I’ll start with the sea though.

Just the sea; waves crash against the jetty, clouds shadow the mountain, head lifts up to light blue clarity, a sparkle of foam on water, a wheeling sea-bird,  a run of green on the pathway, the cast of a rod and some quiet. But it isn’t here.

Back up the road then, and down to another beach of pebbles and wonder. The Rivals shimmer in the distance. I shield my eyes from the glaring sun and turn from the gusting of the wind, counting the pebbles on the beach before me and get lost in their vast numbers and cold like their smooth hardness. But I know it isn’t here either.

Off and along I go, past the purple heathered mountains – hazy and distant with rocks and boulders, the same sea a deeper blue, a family playing on the sand. A dog barks somewhere and turning I see the black crows lift flapping into the sky, following the contours and with the thrup of their wings they take me with them up into the sky and I fly.

It was always the crows, I should have known; maybe they can help - all I need is a name.