The Moor
It was like a church to me.
I entered it on soft foot,
Breath held like a cap in the hand.
It was quiet.
What God was there made himself felt,
Not listened to, in clean colours
That brought a moistening of the eye,
In movement of the wind over grass.
There were no prayers said. But stillness
Of the heart’s passions — that was praise
Enough; and the mind’s cession
Of its kingdom. I walked on,
Simple and poor, while the air crumbled
And broke on me generously as bread.
by R. S. Thomas
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I love this poem by RS Thomas. I lived in North Wales for 6 years and got to know the Llyn Peninsula well, where RS Thomas lived and worked. I knew the sisters who gave RS his cottage in Rhiw. So many memories for me now an old lady of 90 living in beautiful Tasmania, Australia. Thank you for reminding me of North Wales.
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