Bora Da

Bora da (Good day in Welsh). Now sitting across the country road from the 14th Century Tintern Abbey. I can almost see it now out the window, but I can see the green hills and sky. It is a welcome quiet time after a few days in London, a city I still love, rich in history, my own family included, a lot of whom I gathered with a few nights ago in a 1520 pub on the River Thames. The accents may be different, but the sharing of stories and laughter an echo of the past and a sign of good things.

I sat this morning in a small cafe in the Westminster part of London and watched the city come alive at 7:39 a.m. with the sounds of traffic and people. I counted at least five different languages being spoken. We think “diversity” where I live includes a few languages and cultures; here there are so many I can’t keep track of them all. I was thinking again of the words of the English writer who said that the person who doesn’t love London doesn’t love life.

I will try to find a computer in the local library (in a nearby castle)and write more later. Tomorrow to Monmouth where my grandfather preached his first sermon at the age of thirteen and then to see the White Castle.

If there is a heaven, I think for me it would be like sitting in a London cafe in the morning and then where I am right now, overlooking the green hills behind the abbey where the poet Wordsworth and his sister walked hundreds of years ago and felt a spirit that stayed with him.

Nos da (Good Night)

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Filed under Celtic, England and Wales, Nature, Philosophy, Poetry, Spirituality, Thin places, Wales

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