29.6.19 30 Days Wild #29 Ffos Las

2 ddiwrnod i fynd. Cyfle i fynd i’r goedwig goffa yn Ffos Las i weld beth sydd wedi newid dros y flwyddyn ddiwetha’. Am fore ffrwythlon!

IMG_8189

Mefus gwyllt / Fragaria vesca / Wild Strawberries                                                             (anyone else remember calling them ‘sheavies’?)

With only 2 days left, today offered an opportunity to Walk the remembrance woods in Ffos Las. Things have certainly changed since the last time we were there over a year ago. Quite a fruitful morning.

It’s always amazing how quickly nature can re-establish itself when given the chance. ‘Re-wilding’ is quite a buzz word, but if you want to see what it looks like then head to Ffos Las (other woods are available!)

https://www.woodlandtrust.org.uk/visiting-woods/wood/5670/coed-ffos-las/

Dwi erioed wedi gweld cynifer o ehedydd mewn un lle. Am wledd i’r llygaid a’r glust. Gweirloyn y ddôl ym mhob man a nifer o deigrod y benfelen.

Definitely the highest number of skylarks I’ve ever seen in one place (it looks like they’ve had an excellent breeding season). Meadow browns in rich numbers and numerous cinnabar moths.

And the Hedd Wyn memorial is so, so apt for the reflections of warfare to be married with extinction rebellion 100 years after WWI.

 

http://noglory.org/index.php/multimedia/poetry-and-spoken-word/240-hedd-wynn-war

War

Gwae fi fy myw mewn oes mor ddreng,
A Duw ar drai ar orwel pell;
O’i ôl mae dyn, yn deyrn a gwreng,
Yn codi ei awdurdod hell.
Pan deimlodd fyned ymaith Dduw
Cyfododd gledd i ladd ei frawd;
Mae swn yr ymladd ar ein clyw,
A’i gysgod ar fythynnod tlawd.
Mae’r hen delynau genid gynt,
Ynghrog ar gangau’r helyg draw,
A gwaedd y bechgyn lond y gwynt,
A’u gwaed yn gymysg efo’r glaw
Bitter to live in times like these.
While God declines beyond the seas;
Instead, man, king or peasantry,
Raises his gross authority.
When he thinks God has gone away
Man takes up his sword to slay
His brother; we can hear death’s roar.
It shadows the hovels of the poor.
Like the old songs they left behind,
We hung our harps in the willows again.
Ballads of boys blow on the wind,
Their blood is mingled with the rain.

That first line sticks with me with an intensity that should be missing during times of ‘peace’. Hedd Wyn fully understood the complexity and breadth of his observation.

“Gwae fi fy myw mewn oes mor ddreng” Ie wir.

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