Go again in late February when a brief interlude in winter allows the warm sun to glisten your bare legs and arms -- go down to where two rivers meet in a twisting, swirling, love-making union.  Don`t look down as you jump those craggy rocks, for below you is the steam from the battle.  The roar in the depths as orgasmic forces meet.

Climb and climb through the brown, brittle, broken bracken and hear it crack and groan under your heavy boots.  Go around the towering rocks and enter the shadow of the looming dragon mountain and run.  Run down and down until you meet our friend alone, winding its way to meet its love..  Stop a while and drink your fill of the cool, fresh liquid.  

Above you the wood.  The mossy, fungi filled, ferny, damp, silent wood--  Up it stretches to the sky.  Smell it, Breath it, feel it.  Cross the water again and climb up the steep  paths and over the broken branches,  through the dappledness.  Up, up to the flattened rocks which teeter above you in a jumbled mass, enormous and splendid in the sun.  Higher and higher until you feel it .  

Look carefully and find the dark crack once again.  Sit awhile outside it  amongst the trees in the mountain and smell the soft moss, silky to your touch.  There behind you the slit, the welcoming, wet ,cool comforting slit.  Enter it.  Slide up the slippery rock and into  the cave..  Hold your flattened hand on the stone and shut your eyes  Feel the oldness of it all, feel Twm and his love, hear the old Welsh  voices murmuring and echoing around you.   

 There you’ll feel me,  there among the names of our predecessors, there where you’re soft and strong and full of heartbeat and breath.  Sit there for a little while in the calmness of it all and drink me in.  For there it is I am, silently waiting for my soul to be united with yours once again.  For there it was I felt closest to you, there it is our ghosts remain still interlocked in love.

                                                                                                Feb. 98.

Go again ? Already, you instill mystery into the piece. Have I been there before, do I know this writer, is the piece intended for me ?

Already, the sensuality is implied as you casually mention nakedness. Further enforced by the surprising references to love and the river.

Then the description of the river itself – so beautifully evocative.

Building the scene beautifully now …. I love the use of alliteration to reinforce the imagery. Repetition also, serves to draw me into this piece, I enjoy so much to be led by the writer when I read – you have me by the hand, and are guiding me … 

Is it just me ? The last sentence of this paragraph I find very sensual, - double meanings I am loathe to admit I have thought of … Now, I am reading with such intrigue ….

More alliteration and repetition, the pace and assault on the senses building quite skilfully. Here, I would lose the commas and use full stops. Each sentence an implored command. It breaks grammatical rules and that in itself would  help with the pace. And again, in the last sentence … IT ? The wood, am I supposed to feel and experience the wood ? Or is the writer referring back to the mystery subject of her words, and is she meaning something more intimate. I, the reader am no forced to feel voyeuristic at this point.

I have been discovered, my voyeurism has made me look for subtle sexual references. The dark crack, innocent or contrived ? I’m beginning to believe contrived. Silky touches, textures – things are getting very personal. And then the word ‘slit’ how often used in innocence ? Warm and welcoming …. I am in no doubt now that I have stumbled across the most intimate of love-letters. Slip and slide – the sexual inferences now inescapable. The reader must chose to leave or to stay and witness something very personal. I’ll stay, hoping not to be discovered. 

TWM ? I’m definitely not the intended reader. Am I now witness to the love-making of some spiritual creatures, age-old lovers from nature ? Intriguing.

 Feel me, in spirit. Predecessors – I am indeed reading the words of a Naiad or other natural wonder. Perhaps, therefore I am the intended recipient of these words… come and experience me and all my pleasures. Am I part of some long forgotten union with nature – my youth and innocence perhaps ? Or am I mistaken for another? The feelings of arousal shame me now … something so pure and beautiful defiled by my indiscretion. I am not worthy to witness something so magical. 

I have much to think about as I read these incredible words over and over again.