(Cwmcarn Forest Art)
The giant leered, the props holding up his eye-lids dripped tears so salty the tides of a dead sea flowed across his cheeks , washed the spittle on his chin and dried in a dawn that left his age behind, a residue on an arid shore.
From which Olwen walked onto grass moist with dew so that white flowers sprang in her footsteps.
And Culhwch to accompany her into the living day of their new age.
This is the life of myth, glossing intimations of ogrish fathers in images of fantastic proportions.
Gleaning from a jealous stepmother sending her stepson to certain death, an heroic ride to Arthur’s court and the hunting of a boar of power as condition for a marriage.
Were dragons slain? Or arrangements made to preserve appearances?