An ancient trackway, old before the original Church of St Tegwyn was built, straddles the up ground. Once pagan and later Christians would have walked this route. No more, the people have moved, and all that remains is a glorious view and a strong sense of the numinous.
Is it possible to fall into the sky?
I was afraid I might.
Here, as I stood by St. Tegwyns,
It felt easily done
The sky so immense
The hill on which I stood
So dominating, small for sure
But dwarfing Aron Dwyryd
And mighty Snowdon?
Snow-capped it might be,
Yet so distant, so far away
So dwarfed by that mighty sky.
Everywhere I looked, sky.
A cloud here and there in that vast bowl
Of blue light, but the tug,
The ever-present upward tug,
strained at gravity,
and I feared I might fall in.
Reflections on life in Poetry and Prose. 