Welsh is alive and bilingually well – every single road sign is either in English/Welsh or Welsh/English. In Tenby today (the Welsh name is “Dynbich y Pysgod” – the Little Harbour of the Fishes). Standing in the sea was Caldey Island, another of the Holy Isles within this archipelago of Britain and Ireland. It has rained and rained and rained today, washing the stone walls, the narrow laneways, the soft green fields, the gnarled old tree trunks. Washing me … of my sooty sadness … but waterlogging me, weighing me down, soaking me with longing: longing in itself, not for or after anyone or anything.
The Holy Isles – is it there that I will quench my thirst? On a windswept, rocky island, steadfast in the ocean – is it there I will learn to love myself enough to never need anyone else?
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