Our Walk in Glan Rastell

Near the bothy is Glan Rastell, a remote valley, inhabited in recent times, but now left only to the rocks and sheep. We had it all to ourselves. Mystical, and inspiring just a tinge of melancholy, I wrote a few lines to describe it.

The wind whispers the names of those who lived here,

not long ago. It whispers, too, of those who came so many years before.

It whispers of the farmers and their flocks, the faithful trudging

down the muddy track to mass, and of those in hidden tombs, whose names we never knew--of those with ancient gods and ancient ways.

The wind whispers to the water, "Remember them?"But the water, faithless, does not answer.

The wind whispers to the rock,

"Remember them?"But the stones, cold, unyielding, do not respond.

Nor do the indifferent sheep.

Only I can hear the muffled sounds, so indistinct, and wonder who will hear the whispers after me.