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


After days of bright, clear air the pressure drops and the cold abates. Then the mist, missed, fills in: tiny water droplets hanging along the edge of the ridge. I watched them drift up the valley from the sea, dispersing into nooks, crannies, folds in the earth along the bottom then up the slopes turning the view grey as a heron, as slow as a heron's wing beat.

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