05 Aug


I sit hopeful in your reluctant sun where the gulls cry mournfully. Where the sky is a palette board of innocent whites, sulky greys and brave blues.Where the wind carries the salty signature of the sea.

I watch quiet as the innocent morning stretches itself expectant between pale dawn and soft noon, drawing in muted, luminous colours from the air and from the slow turning of the earth.

I rise willing, allowing the afternoon to find me on one of your wild and blustery paths atop a rugged, gorse-claimed cliff high above the green and marine crash and swell. Far from the restless ocean-white horses racing blindly for the shore. In distant sight of a tiny purposeful fishing boat, checking pots and nets with the faintest throaty gurgle of a bronchial engine

I wear thankful another thin layer as your wood-fire scented evening with its Atlantic chill wraps itself around my shoulders. I sip wine as red as blood in this secure and solid cottage hewn from Welsh stone and slate. I hear the certain stroke of past centuries in the peaceful ticking of a clock.

I lie unchained without map or compass in the waiting arms of your inky black night. I roam solemn and untroubled among the indistinct and unaware shapes of lovers, friends and strangers. I sleep safe without fear or regret, sharing the shelter of a familiar roof with a fair and constant woman and our graceful, youngest child

Tomorrow I will wake with a silent hymn on my lips to your unchanging, poetic Celtic nature and ancient soul. And I will whisper an age-old god-less prayer in thanks for the perfect peace of this quiet and gentle holiday.



© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Photograph by David Wilson

I wrote this a few days ago while staying in my beloved West Wales but was unable to post it because of a lack of connectivity. 


Posted by on August 5, 2015 in Still Life


Tags: , , , , , , ,

24 responses to “Sojourn

  1. Leslie Meeks

    August 5, 2015 at 10:00 pm

    Amazing read and wonderfully written as always..

    Liked by 1 person

  2. thefeatheredsleep

    August 5, 2015 at 10:09 pm


    Liked by 1 person

  3. Heartafire

    August 5, 2015 at 10:21 pm

    As the daughter of a Welshman (ironically named Carlos, perhaps his mother loved Spain) I find this beautiful prose stirs nostalgia and a bit of melancholy, one of your finer pieces Mr. D.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. sirensong1208

    August 5, 2015 at 11:46 pm

    Utterly beautiful. I can feel the wind, smell the briny air and sense the tranquility…

    Liked by 1 person

  5. lunargirl

    August 6, 2015 at 3:21 am

    I’ve never been to an ocean shore, however I can not image any words to describe it more entirely.

    Beautiful, and beautifully captured.

    Liked by 1 person

  6. ss

    August 6, 2015 at 7:26 am

    So eloquent. So close.

    Liked by 1 person

  7. Katypoetess

    August 6, 2015 at 7:54 am

    You have been where I belong. When I go home, I go up the steps in Porthgain and write poetry while the sun goes down over the ruins. Extraordinary coincidence…..

    Liked by 1 person

    • Romantic Dominant

      August 6, 2015 at 6:29 pm

      I wasn’t actually in Porthgain this time, though I know it well. The cottage is further up the coast. It has been my escape for many years


  8. Accalia (@accaliasdream)

    August 6, 2015 at 4:22 pm

    Beautifully evocative…I believe I actually sighed out loud .. So beautiful.. So so beautiful x

    Liked by 1 person

  9. missameliaandsir

    August 6, 2015 at 5:14 pm

    Stunning, Sir. 💋

    Liked by 1 person

  10. Katypoetess

    August 6, 2015 at 9:15 pm

    Wherever it was, I will know it well…and if you claim to know it , you will know my soul….. and if you go there then maybe I will know a little of yours too ; )

    Liked by 1 person

  11. Katypoetess

    August 6, 2015 at 9:34 pm

    You are such a terrible tease, but that’s the secret of your success I guess! *big smile*

    Liked by 1 person


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