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"Awen yn codi o'r cudd ac yn cydio'r cwbl"
- Waldo Williams
(Awen arising from hiding and everything binding)

Weather Lore

Pressure falling, so that the clouds drift
in and down over the high ground and under
currents of dry air which slowly uplift
pushing and pulling the rain in from far

out on the Atlantic – ocean currents
driving the moist winds forming the damp air
for a damp island’s weather, shaping the bent
tree branches on western coasts easterly.

In the dark a wind gets up, another change
of air for this island in the northern seas
buffeted by tail winds from the remains
of tropical storms and hurricane breezes;

temperate considering its latitude
because of what prevails above the stream
that flows our way. But if we get a rude
blast from the north-east, bringing a snow storm

on cold air from Siberia, the Steppes,
swaying our drift from the oceanic
swell and lull that feeds our dreams, our precepts
swing with the weathervane and a cold snap

turning away from western themes to face
harsher music, different spheres of influence,
until the vane swings back and we re-trace
again the steps of the transatlantic dance.

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