Voices in Pembrokeshire

Dear Monty,

18/5/13  The top of Carn Ingli was cold, and a sea mist drifted in obliterating the landscape I was attempting to sketch, but this is how this place becomes so beautiful.

The hills came and went fading into grey-blue then white.
The burnt hill - umber and ochre with sudden lit up greens.
Acid yellow gorse and the common land spotted with tumps of heather and sheep manure.

I sat feet in the direction of the chapel and its graveyard, head in the heavens - communing with angels when a group of posh people broke into the silence like oafs - cursing the ways of the Welsh !


Is God here ? I am not in church
I  am here on the slopes below the hill of angels.

Skylark song and the breeze - that is all I hear, no voice of God - or is this His voice ?
It is so powerful in its bubbling intensity.
For me it speaks,
so does this stone and the sculpted hill.

 I am an oaf too sometimes.



  1. If you are an oaf, we are all oafs. Your work is beautiful Paul, a reflection of your experience.


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