Poetry by R. S. Thomas

The Other There are nights that are so still that I can hear the small owl calling far off and a fox barking miles away. It is then that I lie in the lean hours awake listening to the swell born somewhere in the Atlantic rising and falling, rising and falling wave on wave on the long shore by the village that is without light and companionless. And the thought comes of that other being who is awake, too, letting our prayers break on him, not like this for a few hours, but for days, years, for eternity. R.S.Thomas.

In September on our Walkabout we will visit Bardsey Island on the Lleyn Peninsular at the end of the world. Pics by Llen Natur.

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