Abergwesyn Pass

That spring they chose the thin road rising from Tregaron’s sodden peat preserving the foolish and lost and the bones of a bewildered elephant resting his lumbering stunts behind the Talbot Hotel. Sheared by cutting wind they laboured the drovers way blind with rain to Mynydd Elenydd where a solitary red phone box communicates with God across the high emptiness and the hardened farmers of Soar gathered to hear his words painted on the chapel’s whitewashed walls: Duw Cariad Yw.* Turning away, down, to the drowned inlets of Llyn Brianne; migrant pines line the shore, and the cries of red kites proclaim their multiple sovereignty over fallen walls robed in moss. The border is silent, shod geese and cattle long since passed, ducks scuffing the dusty trail to Beulah, a month to the markets of London and a week’s return. On Eppynt’s edge they watch as a skittish dog barks along the ridge ready to round them up. * God Is Love

Ceris Morris