Nyt oed nes hagen idi no chynt. Y uarch a gymhellaud o’r kerdet mwyaf a oed ganthaw. A guelet a wnaeth na thygyei idaw y hymlit.
He was no nearer to her than before. He drove his horse as fast as he could but he saw that he would not be able to follow her.
Pwyll Pendeuic Dyved
….. like a rainbow, when you look
from afar it seems to ground
right there, but if you move
towards the spot where the crock
of gold might be it shifts
- as colours shift – and such
elusive allure is in the nature
of real presences defined
by their unreality when you reach
out to the spot where they are.
I thought this while watching a
rainbow arc across the salt marsh
towards mountains to touch a mound
in the middle distance where the
ground begins to rise. Is it there? But
the thought thinned and evanesced
as the colours did and her light
shone elsewhere touching other
pupils of her wayward ways;
unless they turned away?
Or like Pwyll found a way
to apprehend and speak with her;
on, perhaps, that very mound
if she would stay and gather
up her light around her – like
the golden sheen of her gown,
the white gleam of her steed –
and lift her veil a little to share
some words and acknowledge
this yearning, this love, this need.